! 


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iiiai(uijuiiiiiili|ji«i|jjj|i 


L  I  B  K,  .A.  E. -2- 

PIUXCETOX,  X.  J. 

The  Stephen  Collins  Donsitinn 

KK     40      .rtJ3     V. 4 

Hamilton,  James,  1814-1867. 
Our  Christian  classics 


OUR  CHRISTIAN  CLASSICS: 

READINGS  FKOM 

THE  BEST  DIVINES 

E^itlj  foticcs  giograpMtal  m\^  CrititaL 


JAMES  HAMILTON,  D.I)., 

AUTIIOn    OF    "LIKE  IN-  EAKNEST,"   "MOUNT   OF   OLIVES,"    "  r.OYAL   rKEACIIEi;,"  ETC.,    LTC. 


IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  IV. 


NEW  YORK: 
ROBERT   CARTER   AND    BROTHERS 

No.    530    B  E  O  A  D  W  A  Y . 

1859. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PAGE 

The  EronTEENTH  Century- 

Biblical  Critics  and  Expositors, 

114 

Apologists, 

1 

Bishop  Lowth,  . 

115 

Natural  Theology, 

5 

Personification, 

116 

Dr  Richard  Bentley,      . 

5 

The  Sublime  of  Passion, 

120 

The  Atomic  Theory,  . 

5 

Spontaneous  Greneration, 

7 

Church  Historians, 

126 

The  Placing  of  our  Planet,    . 

12 

Bisliop  Burnet, 

126 

William  Derham,  D.D., 

14 

Character  and  Death  of  Arch- 

On Birds,       . 

14 

bishop  Leigbton,  , 

127 

Archdeacon  Paley, 

20 

The  Milners,    . 

131 

Prospective  Contrivances,     . 

23 

Auselm, 

132 

The  Diffusion  of  Happiness, 

26 

Dr  John  Jortin, 

138 

The  Uses  of  Pain,      . 

29 

Cyprian, 

140 

The  Christian  Evidence, 

32 

Joseph  Addison, 

32 

Pulpit  Orators, 

145 

The   Constancy  of  the  Early 

Bishop  Atterbury, 

147 

Christians, 

32 

Dreams  and  Visions, 

150 

Bishop  Butler,  . 

34 

The  Rainbow  about  the  Throne 

,  153 

The  Mediatorial  System, 

36 

Dean  Swift,      . 

156 

Bishop  Newton, 

42 

On  the  Trinity, 

156 

Prophecies  regarding  the  Deso- 

Jeremiah Seed, 

163 

lation  of  J  udea, 

43 

True  Heroism, 

164 

Bishop  Watson, 

48 

Occupation  for  the  Opulent, 

164 

The  Virtues  of  the  First  Chris- 

Wit Misdirected,      . 

166 

tians, 

48 

Daily  Devotion, 

167 

Bishop  Home,  . 
A   Dialogue  on   Philosophical 

54 

Bishop  Sherlock, 

170 

Christianity  and  its  Compe- 

Scepticism, 
Soame  Jenyns,  . 

54 

titors, 

171 

63 

Archbishop  Seeker,     . 

174 

The  Originality  and  Pre-emi- 

Antidotes to  Anger, 

175 

nence  of  Christ  and  Chris- 

Set Thine  House  in  Order, 

180 

tianity, 

64 

Laurence  Sterne, 

184 

Theologians, 

73 

The  Prodigal  Son,    . 

185 

Bishop  Butler,  . 

73 

Dr  Dodd, 

1S9 

The  Supremacy  of  Conscience, 

74 

Rules  for  Conversation, 

190 

On  Love  to  Grod, 

78 

Anecdotes   respecting    Con- 

Bishop Warburton, 

80 

versation,  . 

193 

Abraham's  Sacrifice  of  Isaac, 

82 

Dr  Ogden, 

197 

Bishop  Horsley, 

86 

The    Intercessor's     Prayer 

The  Lord  come  to  His  Temple, 

88 

coming  back  into  his  own 

The  Risen  Redeemer, 

94 

Bosom,      . 

197 

Abraham  Tucker, 

99 

A  Socratic  Dialogue, 

201 

Providence,    . 

101 

The  Lord's  Supper, 

202 

Doing  all  for  the  Glory  of  Grod, 

104 

Philip  Skelton, 

207 

Reason  and  Passion, . 

107 

Matrimonial  Counsel, 

208 

Dr  Convers  Middleton, 

109 

Bishop  Porteus, 

212 

Holy  Water,  . 

110 

The  Centurion, 

212 

IV 

CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

PAGE 

The  Great  Revival,  and  its 

The  Vanity  of  Science, 

361 

Evangelists,  . 

217 

Castle-Building, 

362 

Specimens, 

254 

Alexander  Pope, 

363 

George  Whitefield, 

254 

Messiah, 

364 

The  Offering  up  of  Isaac,     . 

254 

The    Dying    Christian    to    his 

What  think  ye  of  Christ  \    . 

256 

Soul, 

367 

The  last  Farewell,    . 

260 

Dr  Edward  Young,     . 

367 

John  Weslev, 

261 

The  True  Land  of  the  Living, 

369 

On  the  Death  of  Mr  White- 

The  Awful  Certainty, 

369 

field, 

261 

Dying  Friends, 

370 

A  Hymn, 

267 

Time, 

371 

James  Hervey, 

268 

Piety, 

371 

T heron  and  Aspasio, 

268 

The  Good  Man, 

372 

The  Treasures  of  Snow,       . 

271 

John  Gamboid, 

374 

Samuel  Walker, 

275 

The  Mystery  of  Life, 

374 

"  God  resisteth  the  Proud," 

275 

William  Cowper, 

375 

John  Berridge, 

278 

The  Author  Himself, 

377 

False  Security,  and  Peace  in 

The  Pardoned  Sinner, 

377 

Believing, 

278 

The  Patriot  and  the  Martyr, 

378 

William  Romaine, 

283 

England, 

380 

Gospel  Obedience,    . 

283 

London, 

382 

Thomas  Adam, 

287 

Patriotism  and  Providence, 

383 

Resignation, 

287 

The  Pulpit,  . 

384 

Practical  and  Experimental 

Epimaus,      . 

385 

WpaTERS,       . 

289 

Cruelty  to  Animals, 

386 

Bishop  Beveridge, 

289 

The  Restoration  of  all  Things, 

387 

Flattery  and  Detraction,      . 

290 

Hymns,    .... 

390 

Lady  Rachel  Russell,  . 

291 

Bishop  Ken,     . 

390 

Letters, 

293 

For  Morning, 

391 

William  Law, 

296 

For  Evening, 

393 

A  Father's  Counsels, 

297 

For  Midnight, 

394 

Bishop  Home, 

304 

Joseph  Addison, 

396 

The  Psalms  of  David, 

305 

The  Traveller's  Hymn, 

396 

Henry  Venn,   . 

307 

Creation's  Testimony, 

397 

Life  in  the  Parsonage, 

307 

Joseph  Hart,    . 

398 

Letter  to  a  Daughter, 

308 

Gethsemane, 

398 

John  Newton,  . 

311 

Augustus  M.  Toplady, 

400 

Things  Lovely, 

311 

Assured  Faith, 

400 

The  Laity, 

318 

The  Rock  of  Ages,   . 

401 

Sir  Isaac  Newton, 

318 

A  Meditation  in  Sickness,   . 

402 

Periods   of  Prophetic   Inspira- 

The Dying  Believer  to  his  Soul 
Edward  Perron et, 

,  404 

tion, 

319 

405 

Sir  Richard  Steele,      . 

321 

Crown  Him  Lord  of  All, 

405 

St  Paul,        . 

321 

Charles  Wesley, 

406 

Daniel  Defoe,  . 

326 

The  Day  of  Judgment, 

407 

The  Squire  and  the  Cottager, 
Samuel  Johnson, 

326 

Wrestling  Jacob,      , 

408 

337 

For  the  New  Year,  . 

410 

Prayers. 

338 

Gone  Home, 

411 

Dr  John  Rutty, 

339 

Thomas  Olivez's, 

412 

Diary, 

339 

The  God  of  Abraham, 

412 

Hannah  More. 

341 

William  Cowper, 

415 

Diligent  Dick, 

342 

AVaiking  with  God, 

415 

William  Wilberforcc,  . 

353 

The  Fountain  Opened, 

415 

Looking  unto  Jesus, 

354 

Light  in  Darkness,  . 

416 

Sacred  Poetry, 

361 

Matthew  Prior, 

361 

Index,     .... 

418 

Om  CHRISTIAN  CLASSICS. 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

APOLOGISTS. 

"  Holy  Herbert,"  as  men  love  to  call  tlie  author  of  "  The 
Temple,"  had  an  older  brother  Edward,  who  was  created  by 
Charles  I.  Loed  Herbert  of  Cherbury.  This  older  brother 
was  a  dashing  soldier,  a  spirited  diplomatist,  and  an  accom- 
plished English  gentleman.  Besides  representing  King  James 
at  the  Court  of  France,  and  distinguishing  himself  in  the 
single-combats  which  were  still  the  fashion  of  the  age,  under 
Maurice  of  Nassau  he  fought  the  Spaniards  as  recklessly  as  if 
he  really  wished  to  throw  his  life  away.  But,  like  his  devout 
and  gentle  brother,  Lord  Herbert  was  a  scholar  and  a  genius, 
and  his  stirring  career  was  interrupted  by  occasional  fits  of 
profound  and  careful  meditation.  There  was  a  difference, 
however,  betwixt  the  themes  of  the  brothers.  To  the  pure, 
meek  spirit  of  George,  the  sayings  of  Scripture  were  conclu- 
sive, and  he  craved  no  truth  more  absolute  than  the  utterances 
of  the  Great  Amen.  But  in  the  mind  of  the  warrior  the  place 
of  faith  was  pre-occupied  by  philosophy.  Instead  of  sitting 
under  the  Tree  of  Life,  and  eating  the  pleasant  fruits,  or  group- 
ing in  bright  garlands  the  leaves  and  blossoms,  he  addressed 
himself  to  a  different  task.     He  analysed  the  soil,  and  experi- 

VOL.  IV.  A 


2  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

mented  on  tlie  sap,  and  came  to  the  conclusion,  tliat  fruits  as 
fair,  and  leaves  as  healing,  could  be  manufactured  by  human 
alchemj^  Asking  "What  is  Truth?"  he  found  i^articles  of  it 
in  every  creed  and  worship,  and  by  extracting  them  and  re- 
combining  them  under  the  guidance  of  enlightened  reason,  he 
produced  a  system  of  natural  religion,  absolute,  universal,  and 
sufficient  for  all  purposes !  1 .  That  there  is  a  Supreme  Being ; 
2.  That  He  is  to  be  worshipped;  3.  That  He  is  best  wor- 
shi23ped  by  the  exercise  of  virtue ;  4.  That,  if  rejDented  of,  sin 
^\ill  be  pardoned ;  5.  And  that  there  is  a  future  state,  vnih. 
punishments  for  vice,  and  with  rewards  for  virtue  : — into  these 
five  ultimate  articles  he  crystallised  the  essence  of  all  creeds, 
and  as  a  substitute  for  more  cumbrous  systems,  offered  to  the 
world  his  Eclectic  Theism. 

It  frequently  happens  that,  whilst  faith  is  shut  out  at  the 
door,  superstition  gets  in  at  the  window.  When  Lord  Her- 
bert had  finished  his  book,  one  object  of  which  was  to  bring 
into  Cjuestion  everything  like  special  revelation,  he  could  not 
persuade  himself  to  publish  it  until  he  had  personally  received 
"  a  sign  from  heaven."  "  Being  thus  doubtful  in  my  chamber," 
he  tells  us,  "  one  fair  day  in  the  summer,  my  casement  being 
open  towards  the  south,  the  sun  shining  clear,  and  no  wind 
stirring,  I  took  my  book  '  De  Veritate'  m  my  hands,  and 
kneeling  on  my  knees,  devoutly  said  these  words  :  '  O  Thou 
eternal  God,  author  of  this  light  which  now  shines  upon  me, 
and  giver  of  all  inward  illuminations,  I  do  beseech  Thee  of 
Thine  infinite  goodness,  to  pardon  a  greater  request  than  a 
sinner  ought  to  make.  I  am  not  satisfied  enough,  whether  I 
ought  to  publish  this  book ;  if  it  be  for  Thy  glory,  I  beseech 
Thee  give  me  some  sign  from  heaven;  if  not,  I  shall  suppress 
it.'  I  had  no  sooner  spoken  these  words,  but  a  loud  though 
gentle  voice  came  forth  from  the  heavens — for  it  was  like  no- 
thing on  earth — which  did  so  cheer  and  comfort  me,  that  I 
took  my  petition  for  gi'anted,  and  that  I  had  the  sign  I  de- 


HERBERT  AND  HOBBES.  3 

mancTed  :  wherefore,  also,  I  resolved  to  print  my  l3ook.  This, 
how  strange  soever  it  may  seem,  I  protest  before  the  eternal 
God,  is  true  :  neither  am  I  in  any  way  superstitiously  deceived 
herein,  since  I  did  not  only  clearly  hear  the  voice,  but  in  the 
serenest  sky  that  ever  I  saw,  being  without  all  cloud,  did,  to 
my  thinking,  see  the  place  from  whence  it  came."  Lord 
Herbert  having  thus  received  the  special  communication  from 
heaven,  which  in  the  case  of  John  and  Paul  he  deemed  im- 
possible, sent  his  book  to  Paris  to  be  published.  It  appeared 
in  1624. 

Quarter  of  a  century  later — that  is,  in  1651— appeared  the 
"  Leviathan," — a  treatise  on  the  nature  of  a  commonwealth,  in 
which  religion  is  referred  to  the  will  of  the  governor,  and  is 
declared  to  be  a  mere  matter  of  political  convenience.  The 
production  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  intellects  wliich  our 
country  has  ever  yielded,  distinguished  by  its  marvellous  sym- 
metry and  system,  abounding  in  caustic  epigrams,  annihilating 
those  affections  and  better  elements  of  human  nature  of  which 
the  writer  himself  knew  nothing,  with  frequent  apparent  truth 
ascribing  the  best  actions  to  the  meanest  of  motives,  and  lay- 
ing the  axe  at  the  root  of  all  religion — this  work  created  a 
prodigious  sensation,  wliich  outlasted  the  long  life  of  its  author, 
Thomas  Hobbes  of  Malmsbury.*  Its  irreligion,  its  contemp- 
tuous way  of  treating  mankind,  and  its  cleverness  endeared  it 
to  Charles  II.  and  his  jovial  courtiers  j  whilst,  among  general 
readers,  at  first  carried  along  by  its  shrewd  remarks  and  its 
plain  and  vigorous  language,  many  found  themselves  at  last 
involved  in  the  meshes  of  its  sophistry,  and  shut  up  to  the 
conclusion  that  men  are  miserable  mutually -exterminating 
machines,  with  no  higher  power  to  help  or  pity,  and  with  no 
future  existence  to  compensate  the  miseries  of  this  one. 

From  the  dragon  teeth  sown  by  Herbert  and  Hobbes  in 
England,  and  by  Spinoza  in  Holland,  a  mighty  crop  grew  up 
*  Born  April  5,  1588  ;  died  Dec.  4, 1679. 


4  THE  EIGHTEENTn  CENTURY. 

in  the  following  century,  and  it  would  be  dreary  work  to 
follow  through  its  varying  phases,  the  infidelity  of  Blount  and 
Toland,  Collins  and  Woolcot,  Tindal  and  Morgan,  Shaftesbury 
and  Bolingbroke,  David  Hume,  Edward  Gibbon,  and  Thomas 
Paine  in  Britain,  coinciding  Avith  the  brilliant  scepticism  of 
Voltaire,  and  the  Encyclopedists  in  France,  and  the  more  dis- 
astrous, because  more  treacherous  unbelief  of  the  Neologians 
in  Germany.  The  times  were  favourable.  Throughout  the 
greater  part  of  this  century,  there  was  little  faith  in  Europe, 
and  both  in  our  own  country  and  on  the  Continent,  men  were 
glad  of  such  apologies  for  debauchery,  and  such  opiates  to  their 
consciences  as  were  supplied  by  the  sentimentalism  of  Rous- 
seau and  the  jests  of  Voltaire.  It  was  the  October  of  our 
modern  Europe.  The  Beformation  summer  was  past,  and  the 
harvest  of  English  Puritanism  and  Continental  Pietism  had 
gone  home  to  God's  garner,  and  now  the  cold  earth  and  damp 
air  had  only  force  sufficient  for  fungoid  vegetation.  A  hot 
sunshine  is  fatal  to  toadstools,  and  so  is  frost :  but  the  sunny 
days  of  faith  and  zeal  had  passed  away,  and  the  winter  of  war 
and  revolution  had  not  yet  set  in.  Accordingly,  the  right  of 
private  judgment,  the  free  discussion,  the  intellectual  energy 
(^f  the  Bcformation  passing  into  the  sear  and  yellow  leaf,  from 
the  soil  strewn  with  the  honours  of  that  noble  forest  nothing 
sprang  save  poisonous  boleti  and  mould  of  many  colours — the 
Fhallus  fcetidus  of  Gibbon  and  Tom  Paine,  the  Trejnella,  cold 
and  clammy,  of  Hume  and  other  life-destroying  parasites. 

But  if  unbelief  was  the  form  in  which  ungodliness  then 
ramped  and  rioted,  an  earnest  contending  for  the  faith  was  the 
characteristic  of  English  theology.  That  century  was  pre-emi- 
nently THE  AGE  OF  APOLOGETICS  ;  and  without  further  preface, 
we  hasten  to  give  a  few  specimens  of  the  way  in  which  the 
faith  was  defended  by  its  more  distinguished  champions. 
These  may  be  divided  into  two  classes — the  exponents  of 
Natural  Theology,  and  the  advocates  of  Bcvealed  Religion. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


DE  RICHARD  BENTLEY. 


Amongst  numberless  benefactions  to  the  cause  of  religion  and 
humanity,  the  Hon.  Robert  Boyle  settled  by  his  will  an 
annual  stipend  so  as  to  secure  the  preaching  of  eight  sermons 
every  year,  proving  the  Christian  religion  against  notorious 
infidels — viz..  Atheists,  Deists,  Pagans,  Jews,  and  Mohamme- 
dans. The  first  series  was  delivered  in  1692  by  the  acute, 
learned,  and,  we  are  sorry  to  add,  litigious  Richard  Bentley.* 
With  much  of  the  wit  of  his  contemporary.  South,  and  not  a 
little  of  his  style,  the  lectures  by  the  future  Master  of  Trinity 
are  the  most  brilliant  in  the  three  well-known  folios.  Even 
now  they  may  be  considered  "  light  reading,"  and  at  the  time 
when  their  hits  at  the  "  Leviathan "  and  Hobbism  could  be 
thoroughly  appreciated,  they  must  have  been  exceedingly 
amusing. 

EffZ  atomic  EJecrrg. 

If  they  will  still  be  meddling  with  atoms,  be  hammering 
and  squeezing  understanding  out  of  them,  I  would  advise 
them  to  make  use  of  their  own  understanding  for  the  instance. 
ISTothing,  in  my  opinion,  could  run  us  down  more  effectually 
than  that;  for  we  readily  allow,  that  if  any  understand- 
ing can  possibly  be  produced  by  such  clashing  of  senseless 
atoms,  it  is  that  of  an  Atheist,  that  hath  the  fairest  pretensions 
and  the  best  title  to  it.  We  know,  it  is  "  the  fool  that  hath 
said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no  God."  And  it  is  no  less  a  truth 
than  a  paradox,  that  there  are  no  greater  fools  than  atheistical 
wits,  and  none  so  credulous  as  infidels.     No  article  of  religion, 

*  Bom  at  Wakefiekl,  January  27,  1662 ;  died  at  Cambridge,  July  1  i, 
1742. 

A    9. 


0  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

though  as  demonstrable  as  the  nature  of  the  thing  can  admit, 
hath  credibility  enough  for  them.  And  yet  these  same 
cautious  and  quick-sighted  gentlemen  can  wink  and  swallow 
dov,ii  this  sottish  oi^inion  about  percipient  atoms,  which 
exceeds  in  incrcdibihty  all  the  fictions  of  ^sop's  fiibles.  For 
is  it  not  every  whit  as  likely,  or  more,  that  cocks  and  bulls 
might  discourse,  and  hinds  and  panthers  hold  conferences 
about  religion,  as  that  atoms  can  do  so  ?  that  atoms  can  invent 
arts  and  sciences,  can  institute  society  and  government,  can 
make  leagues  and  confederacies,  can  devise  methods  of  peace 
and  stratagems  of  war?  A.nd,  moreover,  the  modesty  of 
mythology  deserves  to  be  commended;  the  scenes  there  are 
laid  at  a  distance  :  it  is  once  upon  a  time,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
and  in  the  land  of  Utopia,  there  was  a  dialogue  between  an 
oak  and  a  cedar  :  whereas  the  Atheist  is  so  impudently  silly, 
as  to  bring  the  farce  of  his  atoms  upon  the  theatre  of  the  pre- 
sent age ;  to  make  dull,  senseless  matter  transact  all  public 
and  private  affairs,  by  sea  and  by  land,  in  houses  of  parlia- 
ment, and  closets  of  princes.  Can  any  creduHty  be  com- 
parable to  this  ?  If  a  man  should  affirm,  that  an  ape,  casually 
meetmg  with  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  falling  to  scribble,  did 
hai)pen  to  ^^Tite  exactly  the  Leviathan  of  Thomas  Hobbes, 
would  an  Atheist  believe  such  a  story?  And  yet  he  can 
easily  digest  as  incredible  as  that;  that  the  innumerable 
members  of  a  human  body,  which,  in  the  style  of  the  Scrip- 
ture,* "  are  all  written  in  the  Book  of  God,"  and  may  admit  of 
almost  infinite  variations  and  transpositions  above  the  twenty- 
four  letters  of  the  alphabet,  were  at  first  fortuitously  scribbled, 
and  by  mere  accident  compacted  into  this  beautiful,  and  noble, 
and  most  wonderfully  useful  frame  which  we  now  see'  it 
carry.  But  this  will  be  the  argument  of  my  next  discourse, 
which  is  the  second  proposition  drawn  from  the  text,  that  the 
admirable  structure  of  human  bodies,  whereby  they  are  fitted 
*  Tsalm  cxxxix.  IG. 


SFONTANEOUS  GENERATION.  7 

to  live,  and  move,  and  bo  vitally  informed  by  the  soul,  is  un- 
questionably tlie  workmanship  of  a  most  wise,  and  powerful, 
and  beneficent  Maker  :  to  which  Almighty  Creator,  together 
with  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  all  honour  and  glory 
and  majesty  and  power,  both  now  and  from  henceforth  ever- 
more.     Amen. 

Spontaneous  feneration. 

But,  secondly,  we  affirm  that  no  insect  or  animal  did  ever 
proceed  equivocally  from  jDutrefaction,  unless  in  miraculous 
cases,  as  in  Egypt  by  the  divine  judgments,  but  all  are  gene- 
rated from  parents  of  their  own  kind,  male  and  female ;  a  disco- 
very of  that  great  importance  that  perhaps  few  inventions  of  this 
age  can  pretend  to  equal  usefulness  and  merit,  and  which  alone 
is  sufficient  (if  the  vices  of  men  did  not  captivate  their  reason) 
to  exjDlode  and  exterminate  rank  Atheism  out  of  the  world. 
For  if  all  animals  be  propagated  by  generation  from  parents  of 
their  own  species,  and  there  be  no  instance  in  nature  of  even  a 
gnat  or  a  mite,  either  now  or  in  former  ages,  spontaneously 
produced,  how  came  there  to  be  such  animals  in  being,  and 
whence  could  they  proceed  ?  There  is  no  need  of  much  study 
and  deliberation  about  it ;  for  either  they  have  existed  eter- 
nally by  infinite  successions  already  gone  and  past,  which  is  in 
its  very  notion  absurd  and  imj^ossible,  or  their  origin  must  be 
ascribed  to  a  supernatural  and  divine  power  that  formed  and 
created  them.  Now,  to  prove  our  assertion  about  the  seminal 
production  of  all  living  creatures,  that  we  may  not  rejDcat  the 
reasons  which  we  have  offi?red  before  against  the  first  mechani- 
cal formation  of  human  bodies,  which  are  equally  valid  against 
the  spontaneous  origin  of  the  minutest  insects,  we  appeal  to 
observation  and  experiment,  which  carry  the  strongest  con- 
viction with  them,  and  make  the  most  sensible  and  lasting  im- 
pressions.    For,  whereas  it  hath  been  the  general  tradition  and 


8  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY. 

belief  that  maggots  and  flies  breed  in  putrefied  carcasses,  and 
particularly  bees  come  from  oxen,  and  hornets  from  horses,  and 
scorpions  from  crab-fish,  &c.,  all  this  is  now  found  to  be  fable 
and  mistake.  That  sagacious 'and  learned  naturalist,  Fran- 
cisco Redi,  made  innumerable  trials  with  the  putrid  flesh  of  all 
sorts  of  beasts  and  fowls,  and  fishes  and  serpents,  with  cor- 
rui)ted  cheese,  and  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  even  insects  them- 
selves ;  and  he  constantly  found,  that  all  those  kinds  of  putre- 
faction did  only  afford  a  nest  and  aliment  for  the  eggs  and 
young  of  those  insects  that  he  admitted  to  come  there,  but 
produced  no  animal  of  themselves  by  a  spontaneous  forma- 
tion :  for,  when  he  suffered  those  things  to  putrefy  in  hermeti- 
cally sealed  glasses,  and  vessels  close  covered  with  paper — and 
not  only  so,  lest  the  exclusion  of  the  air  might  be  supposed  to 
hinder  the  experiment,  but  in  vessels  covered  with  fine  lawn, 
so  as  to  admit  the  air  and  keep  out  the  insects — no  living 
thing  was  ever  produced  there,  though  he  exposed  them  to  the 
action  of  the  sun,  in  the  warm  climate  of  Florence,  and  in  the 
kindest  season  of  the  year.  Even  flies  crushed  and  corrupted, 
when  enclosed  in  such  vessels,  did  never  procreate  a  new  fly, 
though  there,  if  in  any  case,  one  would  have  expected  that 
success.  And  when  the  vessels  were  open,  and  the  insects  had 
free  access  to  the  aliment  ^vithin  them,  he  diligently  observed 
that  no  other  species  were  produced  but  of  such  as  he  saw  go 
in  and  feed,  and  deposit  their  eggs  there,  wliich  they  Avould 
readily  do  in  all  putrefaction,  even  in  a  mucilage  of  bruised 
S2)idcrs,  where  worms  were  soon  hatched  out  of  such  eggs,  and 
cjuickly  changed  into  flies  of  the  same  kind  with  their  parents. 
And  was  not  that  a  surprising  transformation  indeed,  if, 
according  to  the  vulgar  opinion,  those  dead  and  corrupted 
spiders  spontaneously  changed  into  flics  1  And  thus  far  we 
are  obliged  to  the  diligence  of  Redi ;  from  whence  we  may 
conclude,  that  no  dead  flesh,  nor  herbs,  nor  other  putrefied 
bodies,  nor  anything  that  hath  not  then  actually  cither  a  vege- 


SHOWERS  OF  FROGS.  9 

table  or  animal  life,  can  produce  any  insect.  And  if  we  should 
allow,  as  lie  did,  that  every  animal  and  plant  doth  natu- 
rally breed  and  nourish  by  its  substance  some  peculiar  insect, 
yet  the  Atheist  could  make  no  advantage  of  this  concession  as 
to  a  like  origination  of  mankind.  For  surely  it  is  beyond 
even  an  Atheist's  credulity  and  impudence,  to  affirm  that  the 
first  men  might  proceed  out  of  the  galls  and  tumours  of  leaves 
of  trees,  as  some  maggots  and  flies  are  supposed  to  do  now ; 
or  might  grow  upon  trees,  as  the  story  goes  about  barnacles ; 
or  perhaps  might  be  the  parasites  of  some  vast  prodigious 
animals,  whose  species  is  now  extinct.  But  though  we  sup- 
pose him  guilty  of  such  an  extravagant  folly,  he  mil  only  shift 
the  difficulty,  and  not  wholly  remove  it;  for  we  shall  still 
expect  an  account  of  the  spontaneous  formation  of  those  moun- 
tainous kind  of  animals  and  men-bearing  trees.  And  as  to 
the  worms  that  are  bred  in  the  intestines  and  other  inward 
parts  of  living  creatures,  their  production  is  not  material  to  our 
present  inquiry,  till  some  Atheist  do  affirm,  that  his  own  ances- 
tors had  such  an  original.  I  say,  if  we  should  allow  this  con- 
cession of  Eedi,  it  would  do  no  service  to  our  adversaries :  but 
even  here  also  they  are  defeated  by  the  happy  curiosity  of  Mal- 
pighi  and  others,  who  observed  and  discovered,  that  each  of 
those  tumours  and  excrescences  of  plants,  out  of  which  gene- 
rally issues  a  fly  or  a  worm,  are  at  first  made  by  such  insects, 
which  wound  the  tender  buds  with  a  long  hollow  trunk,  and 
deposit  an  egg  in  the  hole  with  a  sharp  corroding  liquor,  which 
causeth  a  sv/elling  in  the  leaf,  and  so  closeth  the  orifice :  and 
within  this  tumour  the  worm  is  hatched,  and  receives  its  ali- 
ment, till  it  hath  eat  its  way  through. 

And  then,  as  to  the  vulgar  opuiion,  that  frogs  are  made  in 
the  clouds,  and  brought  down  by  the  rains,  it  may  be  thus 
easily  refuted :  for  at  that  very  instant,  when  they  are  sup- 
posed to  descend,  you  may  find,  by  dissection,  their  stomachs 
full  of  meat  newly  gathered  or   partially  digested;  so  that 


10  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

tlicy  had  lurked  before  in  tlie  dcay-time  in  holes  and  bushes 
and  gi-ass,  and  were  then  invited  abroad  by  the  freshness  of  a 
shower.  And  by  this  tune  we  may  understand,  what  credit 
and  authority  those  old  stories  ought  to  have  about  the  mon- 
strous productions  in  Egypt  after  the  inundation  of  the  Nile, 
of  mice  and  frogs  and  serpents,  half  flesh  and  half  mud ;  nay, 
of  the  legs,  and  arms,  and  other  limbs  of  men,  et  quicqidd 
Grcecia  mendax;  altogether  as  true  as  what  is  seriously  related 
by  Helmont,  that  foul  linen,  stopped  in  a  vessel  that  hath 
wheat  in  it,  will  in  twenty-one  days  time  turn  the  wheat  into 
mice :  which  one  may  guess  to  have  been  the  philosophy  and 
information  of  some  housewife,  who  had  not  so  carefully 
covered  her  wheat  but  that  the  mice  could  come  at  it,  and 
were  there  taken  napping,  just  when  they  had  made  an  end  of 
their  cheer.  Corn  is  so  innocent  from  this  calumny  of  breed- 
ing of  mice,  that  it  doth  not  produce  the  very  weevils  that 
live  in  it  and  consume  it ;  the  whole  course  of  whose  genera- 
tion and  periodical  changes  hath  been  curiously  observed  and 
described  by  the  ingenious  Lewenhoeck.  And,  moreover,  that 
we  may  deprive  the  Atheist  of  all  hopes  and  pretensions  of 
argument  from  this  baffled  opinion  of  equivocal  insects,  we 
will  acquaint  him  from  the  most  accurate  observations  of 
Swammerdam,  that  even  the  supposed  change  of  worms  into 
flies  is  no  real  transmutation ;  but  that  most  of  those  members, 
Avhich  at  last  become  \isible  to  the  eye,  are  existent  at  the 
beginning,  artificially  complicated  together,  and  covered  with 
membranes  and  tunicles,  which  are  aftei-^\ards  stript  off  and 
laid  aside :  and  all  the  rest  of  that  process  is  no  more  surpris- 
ing than  the  eruption  of  horns  in  some  brutes,  or  of  teeth  and 
beard  in  men  at  certain  periods  of  age. 

And  as  we  have  established  our  assertion  of  the  seminal 
production  of  all  kinds  of  animals,  so  likewise  we  affirm,  that 
the  meanest  plant  cannot  be  raised  without  seed  by  any  forma- 
tive power  residmg  in  the  soil.     To  which  assertion  we  are 


PLANTS  NOT  SELF-CEEATED.  11 

encouraged,  first,  from  tlie  known  seeds  of  all  vegetables,  one 
or  two  only  excepted,  that  are  left  to  future  discovery ;  wliicli 
seeds,  by  the  lielp  of  microscopes,  are  all  found  to  be  real  and 
perfect  plants,  with  leaves  and  trunk  curiously  folded  up  and 
enclosed  in  the  cortex;  nay,  one  single  grain  of  wheat,  or 
barley,  or  rye,  shall  contain  four  or  five  distinct  plants  under 
one  common  tunicle ;  a  very  convincing  argument  of  the  pro- 
vidence and  goodness  of  God,  that  those  vegetables,  that  were 
appointed  to  be  the  chief  sustenance  of  mankind,  should  have 
that  multiplied  fecundity  above  any  others.  And,  secondly, 
by  that  famous  experiment  of  Malpighi,  who  a  long  time 
enclosed  a  quantity  of  earth  in  a  vessel,  secured  by  a  fine  cloth 
from  the  small  imperceptible  seeds  of  x^lants  that  are  blown 
about  with  the  winds ;  and  had  this  success  of  his  curiosity,  to 
be  the  first  happy  discoverer  of  this  noble  and  important  truth, 
that  no  species  of  plants  can  be  produced  out  of  earth  without 
a  pre-existent  seed ;  and  consequently  they  were  all  created 
and  raised  at  the  beginning  of  things  by  the  Almighty 
Gardener,  God  blessed  for  ever.  And,  lastly,  as  to  those 
various  and  elegant  shells,  that  are  dug  up  in  continents,  and 
embodied  in  stones  and  rocks  at  a  vast  distance  from  any  sea ; 
which  this  Atheist  may  possibly  allege  for  an  instance  of  a 
plastic  faculty  of  nature ;  it  is  now  generally  agreed  by  the 
most  diligent  inquirers  about  them,  that  they  are  no  sportful 
productions  of  the  soil,  as  was  formerly  believed,  but  that  all 
did  once  belong  to  real  and  living  fishes ;  since  each  of  them 
exactly  resembles  some  shell  of  the  seas,  both  in  its  outward 
lineaments,  and  inward  texture,  and  specific  gTavity,  and  all 
other  properties  :  which,  therefore,  are  so  far  from  being  subser- 
vient to  Atheists  ui  their  audacious  attempts  against  God  and 
religion,  that  they  rather  afford  an  experimental  confirmation 
of  the  universal  deluge. 

And  thus  we  have  competently  she^vn,  that  every  species  of 
living  creatures,  every  small  insect,  and  even  the  herbs  of  the 


12  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

field,  give  a  casting  vote  against  Atheism,  and  declare  tlie 
necessity  of  a  supernatural  formation.  If  tlie  earth  in  its  first 
constitution  had  been  left  to  itself,  what  horrid  deformity  and 
desolation  had  for  ever  overspread  its  face !  Not  one  living 
inhabitant  would  be  found  on  all  its  spacious  surface ;  not  so 
much  as  a  worm  in  the  bowels  of  it,  nor  one  single  fish  in  the 
vast  bosom  of  the  sea ;  not  a  mantle  of  grass  or  moss  to  cover 
and  conceal  the  nakedness  of  nature.  An  eternal  sterility 
must  have  possessed  the  world,  where  all  things  had  been  fixed 
and  fostened  everlastingly  with  the  adamantine  chains  of 
specific  gravity ;  if  the  Almighty  had  not  spoken  and  said, 
''  Let  the  earth  bring  forth  grass,  the  herb  yielding  seed,  and 
the  fruit-tree  yielding  fruit  after  its  kind ;  and  it  was  so."  It 
was  God  that  then  created  the  first  seminal  forms  of  all 
animals  and  vegetables,  that  "  commanded  the  waters  to  bring 
forth  abundantly,"  and  "  the  earth  to  produce  living  creatures 
after  their  Idnd ; "  that  "  made  man  in  his  ovra  image  after  his 
own  likeness ; "  that  by  the  efficacy  of  his  first  blessing  made 
"  him  be  fruitful  and  multiply,  and  replenish  the  earth  ; "  by 
whose  alone  power  and  conservation  "  we  all  live,  and  move, 
and  have  our  being." 

5r6e  ^lacmtj  of  mx  |5Imtct 

Let  us  consider  the  particular  situation  of  our  earth,  and 
its  distance  from  the  sun.  It  is  now  placed  so  conveniently, 
that  plants  thrive  and  flourish  in  it,  and  animals  live ;  this  is 
matter  of  fact,  and  beyond  all  dispute.  But  how  came  it  to 
pass  at  the  beginning,  that  the  earth  moved  in  its  present  orb? 
We  have  shewn  before,  that  if  gravity  and  a  projected  motion 
be  fitly  proportioned,  any  planet  would  freely  revolve  at  any 
assignable  distance  within  the  space  of  the  whole  system.  Was 
it  mere  chance  then,  or  divine  counsel  and  choice,  that  consti- 
tuted the  earth  in  its  present  situation  ?     To  know  this,  we 


POSITION  OF  THE  EARTH  IN  SPACE.  l3 

will  inquire  if  this  particular  distance  from  the  sun  bo  better 
for  our  earth  and  its  creatures  than  a  greater  or  less  would 
have  been.     We  may  be  mathematically  certain  that  the  heat 
of  the  sun  is  according  to  the  density  of  the  sun-beams,  and  is 
reciprocally  proportional  to  the  square  of  the  distance  from  the 
body  of  t]ie  sun.*    Now,  by  this  calculation,  suppose  the  earth 
should  be  removed  and  placed  nearer  to  the  sun,  and  revolve, 
for  instance,  in  the  orbit  of  Mercury,  there  the  whole  ocean 
would  even  boil  with  extremity  of  heat,  and  be  all  exhaled  into 
vapours ;  all  plants  and  animals  would  be  scorched  and  con- 
sumed in  that  fiery  furnace.     But  suppose  the  earth  should  be 
carried  to  the  great  distance  of  Saturn  ;  there  the  whole  globe 
would  be  one  frigid  zone;  the  deepest  seas  under  the  very 
equator  would  be  frozen  to  the  bottom  j  there  would  be  no 
life,  no  germination,  nor  anything  that  comes  now  under  our 
knowledge  or  senses.     It  was  much  better,  therefore,  that  the 
earth  should  move  where  it  does,  than  in  a  much  greater  or 
less  interval  from  the  body  of  the  sun.     And  if  you  place  it  at 
any  other  distance,  either  less  or  more  than  Saturn  or  Mercury, 
you  will  still  alter  it  for  the  worse,  proportionally  to  the  change. 
It  was  situated,  therefore,  where  it  is  by  the  msdom  of  some 
voluntary  agent,  and  not  by  the  blind  motions  of  fortune  or 
fate.    If  any  one  should  think  within  himself,  how,  then,  can  any 
animal  at  all  live  in  Mercury  and  Saturn  in  such  intense  degrees 
of  heat  and  cold  ?  let  him  only  consider,  that  the  matter  of 
each  planet  may  have  a  different  density,  and  texture,  and  form, 
which  will  dispose  and  cjualify  it  to  be  acted  on  by  greater  or 
less  degrees  of  heat,  according  to  their  several  situations  ;  and 
that  the  laws  of  vegetation,  and  life,  and  sustenance,  and  pro- 
pagation, are  the  arbitrary  pleasure  of  God,  and  may  vary  in  all 
planets  according  to  the  divine  appointment  and  the  exigencies 
of  things,  in  manners  incomprehensible  to  our  imaginations. 
It  is  enough  for  our  purpose  to  discern  the  tokens  of  wisdom 

*  Newton,  Principia,  p,  415. 
VOL.  IV.  B 


14  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

in  the  placing  of  our  earth ;  if  its  present  constitution  woukl 
be  spoiled  and  destroyed,  if  we  could  not  wear  flesh  and  blood, 
if  we  could  not  have  human  nature  at  those  different  distances. 


WILLIAM  DERHAM,  D.D. 

Like  his  neighbour,  John  Eay  of  Black  Notley,  Dr  Derliani'^ 
was  a  clergyman  who  cultivated  with  much  zeal  different 
branches  of  Natural  History.  In  his  parsonage  at  Upminster 
he  collected  a  large  museum,  including  an  extensive  series  of 
ornitholigical  specimens,  and  both  by  his  own  publications,  and 
the  affectionate  zeal  with  which  he  edited  the  labours  of  others, 
he  earned  a  just  renown  amongst  investigators  abroad,  and 
amongst  his  brethren  of  the  Eoyal  fSociety  at  home.  In  1711 
he  was  invited  to  preach  the  Boyle  Sermons,  and  he  afterwards 
published  them  under  the  title,  "  Physical  Theology ;  or,  a 
Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God  from  the 
Works  of  Creation."  This  work,  with  its  companion  volume, 
the  "  Astro-Theology,"  and  Bay's  "  Wisdom  of  God  in  Crea- 
tion," long  enjoyed  a  great  and  Avell-merited  poiDularity,  and  all 
the  three  are  interesting  as  the  first  specimens  of  a  delightful 
literature  in  which  British  authorship  abounds,  and  of  which 
the  Bridgewater  Treatises  are  the  most  familiar,  as  well  as  the 
most  finished  specimens. 

Derham's  work  being  originally  in  the  form  of  sermons, 
his  detailed  illustrations  are  given  in  foot-notes.  In  the  last 
of  the  folloAving  notes  it  is  hardly  nccessaiy  to  premise  that 
the  fisherman's  story  about  swallows  hybernating  under  water 
is  apocryphal. 

As  this  tribe  hath  a  different  motion  from  that  of  other  ani- 

*  Born  at  Stoughton,  near  Worcester,  November  26,  1657 ;  died  at  Up- 
minster, Essex,  April  5,  1735. 


BIRDS.  15 

mals,  and  an  ampliibioiis  way  of  life,  partly  in  tlie  air,  and 
partly  on  the  land  and  waters,  so  is  tlieir  l^ody  accordingly 
shaped,  and  all  theii'  parts  incomparably  fitted  for  that  way  of 
life  and  motion;  as  will  be  found  by  a  cursory  view  of  some  of 
the  particulars.     And  the 

1.  First  and  most  visible  thing,  is  the  shape  and  make  of 
their  body,  not  thick  and  clumsy,  but  incomparably  adapted 
to  their  flight :  sharp  before,  to  pierce,  and  make  way  through 
the  air,  and  then,  by  gentle  degrees,  rising  to  its  fall  bulk.  To 
which  we  may  add, 

2.  The  neat  position  of  the  feathers  throughout  the  body; 
not  ruffled,  or  discomposed,  or  placed  some  this,  some  a  con- 
trary way,  according  to  the  method  of  chance;  but  all  arti- 
ficially placed  for  facilitating  the  motion  of  the  body,  and  its 
security  at  the  same  time,  by  way  of  clothing :  and  for  that 
end,  most  of  the  feathers  tend  backward,  and  are  laid  over  one 
another  in  exact  regidar  method,  armed  with  warm  and  soft 
down  next  the  body,  and  more  strongly  made,  and  curiously 
closed  next  the  air  and  weather,  to  fence  off  the  injuries  thereof. 
To  which  purpose,  as  also  for  the  more  easy  and  nimble  gliding 
of  the  body  through  the  air,  the  provision  nature  hath  made, 
and  the  instinct  of  these  animals  to  preen  and  dress  their 
feathers,  is  admirable;  both  in  respect  of  their  art  and  curiosity 
in  doing  it,  and  the  oil-bag*  glands  and  whole  apparatus  for 
that  service. 

And  now,  having  said  thus  much  relating  to  the  body's 
motion,  let  us,  3.  Survey  the  grand  instrument  thereof,  the 

*  Mr  Willongliby  saith  there  are  two  glands  for  the  secretion  of  the  unctu- 
ous matter  in  the  oil-bag.  And  so  they  appear  to  be  in  geese.  13ut  upon 
examination,  I  find,  that  in  most  other  birds  (such  at  least  as  I  have  in- 
quired into)  there  is  only  one  gland  :  in  Avhich  are  divers  little  cells,  ending 
in  tAvo  or  three  larger  cells,  lying  under  the  nipple  of  the  oil-bag.  This 
nipple  is  perforated,  and  being  pressed,  or  drawn  by  the  bird's  bill,  or  head, 
emits  the  liquid  oil,  as  it  is  in  some  birds,  or  thicker  unctuous  grease,  as  it 
is  in  others. 


16  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

^^^ngs, — which,  as  they  arc  principal  parts,  so  are  made  with 
great  skill,  and  placed  in  the  most  commodious  point  of  the 
body,*  to  give  it  an  exact  equipoise  in  that  subtile  medium, 
the  air. 

And  here  it  is  observable,  with  what  incomparable  curiosity 
every  feather  is  made ;  the  shaft  exceedmg  strong,  but  hollow 
below  for  strength  and  lightness  sake;  and  above,  not  much 
less  strong,  and  filled  with  a  parenchyma  or  pith,  both  strong 
and  light  too.  The  vanes  are  nicely  gauged  on  each  side  as 
made;  broad  on  one  side,  and  narroAver  on  the  other;  both 
wliich  incomparably  minister  to  the  progressive  motion  of  the 
bird,  as  also  to  the  union  and  closeness  of  the  wing.t 

And  no  less  exquisite  is  the  textrine  art  of  the  plumage  X 

*  In  all  birds  that  fly  much,  or  that  have  the  most  occasion  for  their 
wings,  it  is  manifest  that  their  wings  are  placed  in  the  very  best  part,  to 
balance  their  body  in  the  air,  and  to  give  as  swift  a  progression  as  their 
■wings  and  body  are  capable  of.  For  otherwise,  we  should  perceive  them  to 
reel,  and  fly  unsteadily  ;  as  we  see  them  do  if  we  alter  their  equipoise  by 
cutting  the  end  of  one  of  the  wings,  or  hangiug  a  weight  at  any  of  the  ex- 
treme parts  of  the  body. 

f  The  wise  Author  of  Nature  hath  afforded  an  example  of  the  great 
nicety  in  the  formation  of  birds,  by  the  nicety  observed  in  a  part  no  more 
considerable  than  the  vanes  of  the  flag-feathers  of  the  wing.  Among  others, 
these  two  things  are  observable,  1.  The  edges  of  the  exterior  or  narrow 
vanes  bend  downwards,  but  of  the  interior,  wider  vanes  upwards ;  by  which 
means  they  catch  hold,  and  lie  close  to  one  another,  when  the  wing  is 
spread,  so  that  not  one  feather  may  miss  its  full  force  and  impulse  upon 
the  air.  2.  A  yet  lesser  nicety  is  observed,  and  that  is  in  the  very  sloping 
the  tips  of  the  flag-feathers.  The  interior  vanes  being  neatly  sloped  away 
to  a  point,  towards  the  outward  part  of  the  Aving ;  and  the  exterior  vanes, 
towards  the  body,  at  least  in  many  birds ;  and  in  the  middle  of  the  wing, 
the  vanes  being  equal,  and  but  little  sloped.  So  that  the  wing,  whether  ex- 
tended or  shut,  is  neatly  sloped  and  formed,  as  if  constantly  trimmed  with 
a  pair  of  scissors. 

Z  Since  no  exact  account  that  I  know  of,  hath  been  given  of  the  mechan- 
ism of  the  vanes  or  webs  of  feathers,  my  observations  may  not  be  unaccept- 
able. The  vane  consists  not  of  one  continued  membrane,  because  if  once 
broken,  it  would  hardly  be  reparable  ;  but  of  many  lamina^,  M'hich  are  thin, 
stiif,  and  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  a  thin  quill.    Towards  the  shaft  of  tho 


FEATHERS.  17 

also ;  wMcli  is  so  curionsly  -vvTonglit  and  so  artificially  inter- 
woven, that  it  cannot  be  viewed  without  admiration,  especially 
when  the  eye  is  assisted  with  glasses. 

And  as  curiously  made,  so  no  less  curiously  are  the  feathers 
placed  in  the  wing,  exactly  according  to  their  several  lengths 
and  strength:  the  principals  set  for  stay  and  strength,  and 
these  again  well  lined,  faced,  and  guarded  with  the  covert  and 
secondary  feathers,  to  keep  the  air  from  passing  through, 
whereby  the  stronger  impulses  are  made  thereupon. 

And  lastly,  to  say  no  more  of  this  part,  that  deserves  more 
to  be  said  of  it,  what  an  admirable  apparatus  is  there  of  bones, 
very  strong,  but  withal  light  and  incomparably  wi'ought!  of 
joints,  which  open,  shut,  and  every  way  move,  according  to  the 
occasions  either  of  extending  it  in  flight,  or  withdrawing  the 
wing  again  to  the  body !  and  of  various  muscles;  among  which 
the  pecuhar  strength  of  the  pectoral  muscles  deserves  especial 
remark,  by  reason  they  are  much  stronger  in  birds  than  in  man, 
or  any  other  animal  not  made  for  flying. 

feather  (especially  in  the  shaft-feathers  of  the  wing)  those  laminae  are 
broad,  &c.,  of  a  semicircular  form,  which  serve  for  strength,  and  for  the 
closer  shutting  of  the  laminae  to  one  another,  when  impulses  are  made  upon 
the  air.  Towards  the  outer  part  of  the  vane,  these  laminae  grow  slender 
and  taper.  On  their  under  side  they  are  thin  and  smooth,  but  their  up])er 
outer  edge  is  parted  into  two  hairy  edges,  each  side  having  a  different  sort  of 
hairs,  laminated  or  broad  at  bottom,  and  slender  and  bearded  above  the  other 
half.  I  have,  as  well  as  I  could,  represented  the  uppermost  edge  of  one  of 
these  laminse  with  some  of  the  hairs  on  each  side,  magnified  with  a  micro- 
scope. These  bearded  bristles  or  hairs  on  one  side  the  laminas,  have  straight 
beards;  those  on  the  other  side,  have  hooked  beards  on  one  side  the  slender 
part  of  the  bristle,  and  straight  ones  of  the  other.  Both  these  sorts  of 
bristles  magnified  (only  scattering  and  not  close)  are  represented  as  they 
grow  upon  the  upper  edge  of  the  laminas.  And  in  the  vane,  the  hooked 
beards  of  one  lamina  always  lie  next  the  straight  beards  of  the  next  lamina, 
and  by  that  means  lock  and  hold  each  other,  and  by  a  pretty  mechanism 
brace  the  lamince  close  to  one  another.  And  if  at  any  time  the  vane  happens 
to  be  ruffled  and  discomposed,  it  can  by  this  pretty  easy  mechanism  be  re- 
duced and  repaired. 

b2 


18  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY. 

4.  Next  the  wings,  the  tail  is  in  flight  considerable;  greatly 
assisting  in  all  ascents  and  descents  in  the  air;  as  also  serving 
to  steady''^  flight,  by  keeping  the  body  upright  in  that  subtile 
and  yielding  medium,  by  its  readily  turnmg  and  answering 
every  vacillation  of  the  body. 

And  now,  to  the  parts  serving  for  flight,  let  us  add  the  nice 
and  complete  manner  of  its  performance ;  all  done  according  to 
the  strictest  rules  of  mechanism.  What  rower  on  the  waters, 
what  artist  on  the  land,  what  acutest  mathematician,  could 
give  a  more  agreeable  and  exact  motion  to  the  wings,  than 
these  untaught  flying  artists  do  theirs?  serving  not  only  to 
bear  their  bodies  up  in  the  air,  but  also  to  waft  them  along 
therein  with  a  sj^teedy  progressive  motion,  as  also  to  steer  and 
turn  them  this  way  and  that  way,  up  and  down,  faster  or 
slower,  as  their  occasions  require,  or  their  pleasure  leads  them. 

5.  Next  to  the  parts  for  flight,  let  us  view  the  feet  and  legs 
ministering  to  their  motion  :  both  made  light  for  easier  trans- 
portation through  the  air ;  and  the  former  spread,  some  with 
membranes  for  swimming,t  some  without,  for  steady  going,  for 

*  Mr  Willoughby,  Ray,  and  many  others,  imagine  tlie  principal  use  of  the 
tail  to  be  to  steer,  and  turn  the  body  in  the  air,  as  a  rudder.  But  Borelli 
Lath  put  it  beyond  all  doubt,  that  this  is  the  least  use  of  it,  and  that  it  is 
chiefly  to  assist  the  bird  in  its  ascents  and  descents  in  the  air,  and  to  obviate 
the  vacillations  of  the  body  and  wings.  For,  as  for  turning  to  this  or  that 
side,  it  is  performed  by  the  wings  and  inclination  of  the  body,  and  but  very 
little  by  the  help  of  the  tail. 

t  It  is  considerable  in  all  water-fowl,  how  exactly  their  legs  and  feet 
correspond  to  that  way  of  life.  For  either  their  legs  are  long,  to  enable 
them  to  wade  in  the  waters  :  in  which  case  their  legs  are  bare  of  feathers  a 
good  way  above  the  knees,  the  more  conveniently  for  this  purpose.  Their 
toes  also  are  all  ])road  ;  and  in  such  as  bear  the  name  of  JMudsuckers,  two 
of  the  toes  are  somewhat  joined,  that  they  may  not  easily  sink  in  walking 
upon  boggy  places.  And  as  for  such  as  are  whole-footed,  or  whose  toes  are 
webbed  together  (excepting  some  few)  their  legs  are  generally  short,  which 
is  the  most  convenient  size  for  swimming.  And  'tis  pretty  enough  to  see 
how  artificially  they  gather  up  their  toes  and  feet  when  they  withdraw  their 
legs,  or  go  to  take  their  stroke ;  and  as  artificially  again  extend  or  open 


LIMBS  OF  BIEDS.  19 

l^erching,  for  catcliing  and  holding  of  prey,*  or  for  hanging  by 
the  heels  to  gather  their  food,t  or  to  fix  themselves  in  their 
places  of  retreat  and  safety.  And  the  latter,  namely,  the  legs, 
all  curved  for  their  easy  perching,  roosting,  and  rest,  as  also  to 
help  them  upon  their  wings  in  taking  their  flight,  and  to  be 
therein  commodiously  tucked  up  to  the  body,  so  as  not  to 
obstruct  their  flight.  In  some  long,  for  wading  and  searching 
the  waters ;  in  some  of  a  moderate  length,  answerable  to  their 
vulgar  occasions  ;  and  in  others  as  remarkably  short,  to  answer 
their  especial  occasions  and  manner  of  life,  J  To  all  wliich  let 
us  add  the  placing  these  last-mentioned  parts  in  the  body.     In 

their  whole  foot,  wlien  they  press  upon,  or  drive  themselves  forward  ia  the 
waters. 

"  Some  of  the  characteristics  of  rapacious  birds,  are  to  have  hooked, 
strong,  and  sharp-pointed  beaks  and  talons,  fitted  for  rapine,  and  tearing  of 
flesh  ;  and  strong  and  brawny  thighs  for  striking  down  their  prey.  Wil- 
loughhy  Ornith.,  1.  2.  c.  1.  Haii  Synoxis.  Av.  Method,  p.  1. 

f  Such  bhds  as  climb,  particularly  those  of  the  woodpecker  kind,  have 
for  this  purpose  (as  Mr  Willoughby  observes,  1.  2  c.  4) — 1.  Strong  and  mus- 
culous  thighs.  2.  Short  legs,  and  very  strong.  3.  Toes  standing  two  for- 
wards, and  two  backwards.  Their  toes  also  are  close  joined  together,  that 
they  may  more  strongly  and  firmly  lay  hold  on  the  tree  they  climb  upon.  4. 
All  of  them  have  a  hard  stiff  tail,  bending  also  downwards,  on  which  they 
lean,  and  so  bear  vip  themselves  in  climbing. 

X  Swifts  and  swallows  have  remarkably  short  legs,  especially  the  former, 
and  their  toes  grasp  anything  very  strongly ;  all  which  is  useful  to  them 
in  building  their  nests,  and  other  such  occasions  as  necessitate  them  to  hang 
frequently  by  their  heels.  But  there  is  far  greater  use  of  this  structure  of 
their  legs  and  feet,  if  the  reports  be  true  of  their  hanging  by  the  heels  in  great 
clusters  (after  the  manner  of  bees)  in  mines  and  grottos,  and  on  the  rocks 
by  the  sea,  all  the  winter— of  which  latter,  I  remember  the  late  learned 
Dr  Fry  told  his  story  at  the  university,  and  confirmed  it  to  me  since,  \\z.  : — 
That  an  ancient  fisherman,  accounted  an  honest  man,  being  near  some 
rocks  on  the  coast  of  Cornwall,  saw  at  a  very  low  ebb,  a  black  list  of  some- 
thing adhering  to  the  rock,  which  when  he  came  to  examine,  he  found  it 
was  a  great  number  of  swallows,  and,  if  I  misremember  not,  of  swifts  also, 
hanging  by  the  feet  to  one  another,  as  bees  do,  which  Avere  covered  com- 
monly by  the  sea-waters,  but  revived  in  his  warm  hand,  and  by  the  fire. 
All  this  the  fisherman  himself  assured  the  doctor  of. 


20  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

all  somewhat  out  of  the  centre  of  tlie  body's  gravity,*  but  in 
such  as  swim,  more  than  in  others,  for  the  l^etter  rowing  their 
bodies  through  the  waters,  or  to  help  them  in  that  and  diving 
too. 

ARCHDEACON  PALEY. 

One  October  evening,  a  hundred  years  ago,  the  master  of 
Giggleswick  school  was  musing  in  his  quiet  study — more  quiet 
than  usual,  for  he  had  just  deposited  at  Cambridge  the  hope 
of  his  house,  his  first-born  William.  The  silence  was  broken 
by  his  remarking  to  a  youth,  his  only  boarder,  "  My  son  is  now 
gone  to  college.  He'll  turn  out  a  gTeat  man — very  great 
indeed — I  'm  certain  of  it ;  for  he  has  by  far  the  clearest  head 
I  ever  met  with  in  my  life."  The  clear  head  was  attached  to  a 
very  clumsy  body.  On  his  first  journey  to  Cambridge  he 
dropped  from  his  pony  so  often,  that  at  first  his  father  was 
afraid  of  his  breaking  his  neck ;  but  after  a  time  he  became 
such  a  proficient  in  falling,  that  when  the  old  gentleman  heard 
a  thump  on  the  road  behind  him,  he  would  only  turn  aside  his 
head  and  say,  "  Get  up,  lad,  and  take  care  of  thy  money." 
And,  as  is  often  the  case  with  clear  heads  and  clumsy  bodies, 
he  was  profoundly  indolent.  At  college,  the  undergraduates 
were  allowed  to  omit  attendance  at  chapel  twice  a-week,  and 
he  used  to  exhaust  his  privilege  on  Sunday  and  Monday  morn- 
ings, lying  in  bed  till  late  in  the  day;  and  after  he  got  up 
most  of  his  time  was  spent  in  useless  company.  At  last,  and 
at  the  commencement  of  his  third  year,  after  leaving  a  party 
late  at  night,  he  was  awakened  at  five  in  the  morning  by  one 
of  his  companions,  who  stood  at  liis  bed-side  and  said  solemnly, 
"  Paley,  I  have  been  thinking  what  a  fool  you  are.     I  could  do 

*  In  birds  that  frequent  not  the  waters,  the  wings  are  in  the  centre  of 
gravity,  when  the  bird  lies  along,  as  in  flying  ;  but  when  it  stands  or  walks, 
the  erection  of  the  body  throws  the  centre  of  gravity  upon  the  thighs  and 
feet. 


PALEY.  21 

nothing,  probably,  were  I  to  try,  and  I  can  afford  tlic  life  I 
lead ;  yon  conld  do  everything,  and  yon  cannot  afford  it.  I 
have  had  no  sleep  dnring  the  whole  night,  on  account  of  these 
reflections,  and  am  now  come  solemnly  to  inform  you  that,  if 
you  persist  in  your  indolence,  I  must  renounce  your  society." 
He  was  so  struck  mth  the  visit  and  the  visitor,  that  he  lay  in 
bed  most  of  the  day  revolving  the  matter.  He  formed  his 
plan.  He  ordered  his  bed-maker  to  prepare  his  fire  every 
night,  and  he  himself  rose  and  lighted  it  at  four  every  morn- 
ing. The  whole  day  he  devoted  to  study,  except  the  hours 
required  for  chapel  and  hall,  till  nine  at  night,  when  he  went 
to  a  neighbouring  coffee-house  and  regaled  himself  on  a  glass 
of  milk-punch  and  a  mutton  chop.  As  the  result  of  these  ex- 
ertions, his  friendly  monitor  was  rewarded  by  seeing  his  pro- 
tege come  out  senior  wrangler,  and  his  father  lived  to  find  his 
prophecy  fulfilled.  He  lived  to  see  his  son  a  dignitary  of  the 
Church,  and  celebrated  throughout  Europe  as  the  author  of 
''  Hor£e  Pauline^,"  and  "  A  View  of  the  Evidences  of  Chris- 
tianity." 

For  his  success  he  was  mainly  indebted  to  his  "  clear  head." 
He  looked  direct  into  the  heart  of  things,  and  had  a  wonder- 
ful faculty  of  extricating  the  main  point  from  its  accessories  or 
its  encumbrances,  and  in  plain,  unadorned  language,  he  pre- 
sented to  other  minds  what  he  saw  so  vividly.  As  an  investi- 
gator of  truth,  it  was  his  advantage  to  have  little  emotion  or 
passion,  and  he  had  just  imagination  enough  to  suggest  every 
possible  alternative  in  the  course  of  the  inquiry,  without  that 
seductive  fancy  which  might  have  carried  him  from  the  path 
of  a  severe  and  self-denying  demonstration.  In  the  days  of  his 
boyhood  he  had  witnessed  at  York  the  trial  of  Eugene  Aram 
— "  a  man  who,"  he  used  to  say,  "  got  himself  hanged  by  his 
own  cleverness  f  but  whilst,  in  common  with  most  Englishmen, 
he  felt  that  innocence  does  not  need  to  be  ingenious,  liis  mind 
was  greatly  excited  by  that  trial,  and  thenceforward  the  laws 


22  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY, 

of  evidence  and  jirobability  so  absorbed  his  thoughts,  that  he 
would  have  made  a  first-rate  judge  or  pleader.  But  as  the- 
ology was  his  profession,  he  gave  to  its  supremely  urgent  ques- 
tions the  results  of  his  experience  and  the  powers  of  his  sturdy 
and  straightforward  understanding.  His  first  essay  was  a  con- 
tribution* to  the  Christian  evidence,  as  acute  as  it  was  novel ; 
and,  especially  now  that  the  "undesigned  coincidences"  be- 
twixt Paul  the  epistoliser  and  Luke  the  historian  have  been 
followed  up  by  similar  latent  but  exquisite  harmonies  between 
the  different  evangehsts,  as  also  between  different  Old  Testa- 
ment -wiiters,*  the  mutual  but  uncollusive  agreements  of  the 
sacred  penmen  give  token  of  a  truthfulness  which  no  honest 
mind  is  able  to  gainsay,  and  to  unlearned  readers  the  proof  is 
peculiarly  acceptable,  as  lying  within  the  four  corners  of  the 
Book,  and  needing  to  be  supjolemented  by  no  extrinsic  or  scien- 
tific evidence. 

The  labours  of  Lardner  and  other  investigators  had  accumu- 
lated a  mass  of  liistorical  and  documentary  confirmations  of  the 
Christian  revelation  absolutely  overwhelming ;  but  their  very 
amount  was  in  some  degree  fatal  to  their  efficacy.  Few  had 
patience  to  plod  through  successive  tomes  of  Latin  and  Greek 
quotations ;  and  so  slowly  did  the  cumbrous  masses  converge 
to  a  conclusion,  that  a  disappointed,  not  to  say  distrustful, 
feeling  was  left  on  the  mind  of  many  a  reader.  Like  the 
launch  of  a  "  Leviathan,"  it  was  weary  work  to  watch  the  slow 
pressing  of  the  hydraulic  rams.  With  his  engineering  eye, 
Paley  struck  out  a  more  excellent  way.  Laying  down  as  ful- 
crums  the  first  principles  Avhich  should  be  equal  to  any 
pressure,  by  way  of  levers  he  selected  a  few  of  the  most  bril- 
liant and  decisive  facts,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  gallant 
vessel  was  afloat. 

To  some  it  may  be  interesting  to  know  the  mature  convic- 
tion of  this  cool  and  cautious  investigator.     Towards  the  close 
*  In  the  works  of  J.  J,  Blunt,  Birks,  kc. 


PALEY  S  NATUEAL  THEOLOGY.  23 

of  life,  and  wlien  Christianity  was  becoming  more  and  more  an 
affair  of  serions  personal  urgency,  he  remarked  to  an  intimate 
friend,  "  There  can  be  no  deceit  in  this  matter.  I  have  exa- 
mined it  with  all  the  attention  of  which  I  am  capable,  and  if 
there  had  been  a  cheat  in  it,  I  think  I  must  have  found  it  out." 

From  his  earliest  boyhood,  Paley  had  a  mechanical  turn. 
He  delighted  in  observing  the  operations  of  skilled  artizans ; 
and  in  all  the  contrivances  by  which  difficulties  were  overcome, 
and  beautiful  results  were  arrived  at,  his  curious  mind  found  a 
pleasing  excitement.  It  is  still  among  the  traditions  of  Sun- 
derland how  eagerly  he  watched  day  by  day  the  erection  of  the 
iron  bridge  over  the  Wear ;  and  Lord  Landsdowne  still  remem- 
bers how  the  invalid  rector  bestirred  himself  to  explain  to  his 
visitor  the  various  ingenuities  of  this  engineering  masterpiece. 
For  this  mechanical  instinct  he  found  a  worthy  outlet  in  the 
work  which  closed  his  useful  labours,  "  Natural  Theology  :  or, 
Evidences  of  the  Existence-  and  Attributes  of  the  Deity,  col- 
lected from  the  Appearances  of  Nature." 

Paley  was  born  at  Peterborough,  August  30, 1743;  and  died 
at  Bishopwearmouth,  May  25,  1805.  His  "  Hora3  Paulinre" 
appeared  in  1790;  the  "Evidences"  in  1794;  the  "Natural 
Theology"  in  1802.  It  is  from  this  last  work  that  the  ex- 
tracts immediately  following  are  taken. 

I  can  hardly  imagine  to  myself  a  more  distinguishing  mark, 
and,  consequently,  a  more  certain  proof  of  design,  than  2>'>'^- 
2Kiratio7i,  i.e.  the  providing  of  things  beforehand,  which  arc 
not  to  be  used  until  a  considerable  time  afterwards :  for  this 
implies  a  contemplation  of  the  future,  which  belongs  only  to 
intelligence. 

Of  these  prospective  contrivances,  the  bodies  of  animals  fur- 
nish various  examples. 


24  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUHY. 

I.  The  human  teeth  aftorcl  an  instance,  not  only  of  pro- 
spective contrivance,  but  of  the  completion  of  the  contrivance 
being  designedly  suspended.  They  are  formed  ■udthin  the 
gums,  and  there  they  stop;  the  fact  being  that  their  further 
advance  to  maturity  would  not  only  be  useless  to  the  new- 
born animal,  but  extremely  in  its  way;  as  it  is  evident  that 
the  art  of  sucldng,  by  which  it  is  for  some  time  to  be  nourished, 
will  be  performed  with  more  ease  both  to  the  nurse  and  to  the 
infant,  whilst  the  inside  of  the  mouth,  and  edges  of  the  gums, 
are  smooth  and  soft,  than  if  set  with  hard-pointed  bones.  By 
the  time  they  are  wanted,  the  teeth  are  ready.  They  have  been 
lodged  "vsithin  the  gums  for  some  months  past,  but  detained, 
as  it  were,  in  their  sockets,  so  long  as  their  further  protrusion 
would  interfere  ■v\ith  the  office  to  which  the  mouth  is  destined. 
Nature,  namely,  that  intelligence  which  was  employed  in  crea- 
tion, looked  beyond  the  first  year  of  the  infant's  life;  yet, 
whilst  she  was  providing  for  functions  which  were  after  that 
term  to  become  necessary,  was  careful  not  to  incommode  those 
which  preceded  them.  What  renders  it  more  probable  that 
this  is  the  effect  of  dgsign,  is,  that  the  teeth  are  imperfect, 
whilst  all  other  parts  of  the  mouth  are  perfect.  The  lips  are 
perfect,  the  tongue  is  perfect ;  the  cheeks,  the  jaws,  the  palate, 
the  pharynx,  the  larynx,  are  all  perfect :  the  teeth  alone  are 
not  so.  This  is  the  fact  with  respect  to  the  human  mouth : 
the  fact  also  is,  that  the  parts  above  enumerated,  are  called  into 
use  from  the  beginning;  whereas  the  teeth  would  be  only  so 
many  obstacles  and  annoyances,  if  they  were  there.  When  a 
contrary  order  is  necessary,  a  contrary  order  jDrevails.  In  the 
worm  of  the  beetle,  as  hatched  from  the  e<^'^,  the  teeth  are  the 
first  things  which  arrive  at  perfection.  The  insect  begins  to 
gnaw  as  soon  as  it  escapes  from  the  shell,  though  its  other 
parts  be  only  gradually  advancing  to  their  maturity.     .      .     . 

III.  The  eye  is  of  no  use,  at  the  time  when  it  is  formed. 
It  is  an  optical  instrument  made  in  a  dungeon;  constructed 


PP.0SPECT1VE  COKTRlVANCEb.  25 

for  tlie  refraction  of  liglit  to  a  focus,  and  perfect  for  its  pur- 
pose, before  a  ray  of  liglit  lias  had  access  to  it ;  geometrically 
adapted  to  tlie  properties  and  action  of  an  element  with  which 
it  has  no  communication.  It  is  about  indeed  to  enter  into 
that  communication:  and  this  is  precisely  the  thing  which 
evidences  intention.  It  is  j^^'ovidinff  for  the  future  in  the 
closest  sense  which  can  be  given  to  these  terms ;  for  it  is  pro- 
viding for  a  future  change ;  not  for  the  then  subsisting  con- 
dition of  the  animal;  not  for  any  gradual  progress  or  advance 
in  that  same  condition;  but  for  a  new  state,  the  consequence 
of  a  great  and  sudden  alteration,  which  the  animal  has  to 
undergo  at  its  birth.  Is  it  to  be  believed  that  the  eye  w\ns 
formed,  or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  that  the  series  of  causes 
was  fixed  by  which  the  eye  is  formed,  without  a  view  to  this 
change;  without  a  prospect  of  that  condition,  in  which  its 
fabric,  of  no  use  at  present,  is  about  to  be  of  the  greatest ; 
without  a  consideration  of  the  qualities  of  that  element,  hither- 
to entirely  excluded,  but  with  which  it  was  hereafter  to  hold 
so  intimate  a  relation  ?  A  young  man  makes  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles for  himself  against  he  grows  old ;  for  wdiich  spectacles 
he  has  no  want  or  use  whatever  at  the  time  he  makes  them. 
Could  this  be  done  Tvithout  knowing  and  considering  the  defect 
of  vision  to  which  advanced  age  is  subject?  Would  not  the 
precise  suitableness  of  the  instrument  to  its  purpose,  of  the 
remedy  to  the  defect,  of  the  convex  lens  to  the  flattened  eye, 
establish  the  certainty  of  the  conclusion,  that  the  case,  after- 
wards to  arise,  had  been  considered  beforehand,  speculated 
upon,  provided  for?  all  which  are  exclusively  the  acts  of  a 
reasoning  mind.  The  eye  formed  in  one  state,  for  use  only  in 
another  state,  and  in  a  different  state,  affords  a  proof  no  less 
clear  of  destination  to  a  future  purpose ;  and  a  proof  i:)ropor- 
tionably  stronger,  as  the  machinery  is  more  complicated,  and 
the  adaptation  more  exact. 

VOL.  IV,  c 


26  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 


It  is  a  liappy  world  after  all.  Tlic  air,  the  earth,  the  water, 
teem  with  delighted  existence.  In  a  spring  noon,  or  a  summer 
evening,  on  whichever  side  I  turn  my  eyes,  myriads  of  happy 
beings  crowd  ujjon  my  view.  "  The  insect  youth  are  on  the 
mng."  fSwarms  of  new  born^i^s,  are  trying  their  pinions  in 
the  air.  Their  sportive  motions,  then-  wanton  mazes,  their 
gratuitous  activity,  their  continual  change  of  place  -wdthout  use 
or  purpose,  testify  their  joy,  and  the  exultation  which  they  feel 
in  their  lately  discovered  faculties,  A  hee  amongst  the  flowers 
in  spring,  is  one  of  the  most  cheerful  objects  that  can  be  looked 
upon.  Its  life  appears  to  be  all  enjoyment ;  so  busy,  and  so 
pleased ;  yet  it  is  only  a  specimen  of  insect  life,  with  wliich, 
by  reason  of  the  animal  being  half  domesticated,  we  happen  to 
be  better  acquainted  than  we  are  with  that  of  others.  The 
wJtole  winged  insect  tribe,  it  is  probable,  are  equally  intent  upon 
their  proper  employments,  and,  under  every  variety  of  consti- 
tution, gratified,  and  perhaps  equally  gratified,  by  the  offices 
which  the  Author  of  their  nature  has  assigned  to  them.  But 
the  atmosphere  is  not  the  only  scene  of  enjoyment  for  the  insect 
race.  Plants  are  covered  with  aphides,  greedily  sucking  their 
juices,  and  constantly,  as  it  should  seem,  in  the  act  of  sucking. 
It  cannot  be  doubted  but  that  this  is  a  state  of  gratification. 
What  else  should  fix  them  so  close  to  the  operation,  and  so 
long  ?  Other  species  are  running  ahout,  with  an  alacrity  in 
their  motions  which  carries  with  it  every  mark  of  pleasure. 
Large  patches  of  ground  are  sometimes  half  covered  with  these 
brisk  and  sprightly  natures.  If  we  look  to  what  the  2vaters 
produce,  shoals  of  the  fry  of  fish  frequent  the  margins  of  rivers, 
of  lakes,  and  of  the  sea  itself.  These  are  so  happy,  that  they 
know  not  what  to  do  with  themselves.  Their  attitudes,  their 
vivacity,  their  leaps  out  of  the  water,  their  frolics  in  it  (which 


SHRIMPS  MERRY-MAKING.  27 

I  have  noticed  a  tliousand  times  with  equal  attention  and 
amusement),  all  conduce  to  shew  their  excess  of  spirits,  and 
are  simply  the  effects  of  that  excess.  Walldng  by  the  sea-side, 
in  a  calm  evening,  upon  a  sandy  shore,  and  with  an  ebbing 
tide,  I  have  frequently  remarked  the  appearance  of  a  dark 
cloud,  or,  rather,  very  thick  mist,  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the 
water,  to  the  height,  perhaps,  of  half  a  yard,  and  of  the  breadth 
of  two  or  three  yards,  stretching  along  the  coast  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  and  always  retiring  with  the  water.  When 
this  cloud  came  to  be  examined,  it  proved  to  be  nothing  else 
than  so  much  space,  filled  with  young  shrimps,  in  the  act  of 
bounding  into  the  air  from  the  shallow  margin  of  the  water,  or 
from  the  wet  sand.  If  any  motion  of  a  mute  animal  could 
express  delight,  it  was  this  :  if  they  had  meant  to  make  signs 
of  their  happiness,  they  could  not  have  done  it  more  intelli- 
gibly. Suppose  then,  what  I  have  no  doubt  of,  each  individual 
of  this  number  to  be  in  a  state  of  positive  enjoyment ;  what  a 
sum,  collectively,  of  gratification  and  pleasure  have  we  here 
before  our  view  ? 

The  young  of  all  animals  appear  to  me  to  receive  pleasure 
simply  from  the  exercise  of  their  limbs  and  bodily  faculties, 
without  reference  to  any  end  to  be  attained,  or  any  use  to  be 
answered  by  the  exertion.  A  child,  without  knowing  anythuig 
of  the  use  of  language,  is  in  a  high  degree  delighted  with  being 
able  to  speak.  Its  incessant  repetition  of  a  few  articulate 
sounds,  or,  perhaps,  of  the  single  word  which  it  has  learnt  to 
pronounce,  proves  tliis  point  clearly.  Nor  is  it  less  pleased 
with  its  first  successful  endeavours  to  walk,  or  rather  to  run 
(which  precedes  walking),  although  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
importance  of  the  attainment  to  its  future  life,  and  even  with- 
out applying  it  to  any  present  purpose.  A  child  is  delighted 
■with  speaking,  without  having  anything  to  say,  and  with  walk- 
ing, wdthout  knowing  where  to  go.  And,  prior  to  both  these, 
I  am  disposed  to  believe;  that  the  waking  hours  of  infancy  are 


28  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

agreeably  taken  up  -with  the  exercise  of  vision,  or  perhaps, 
more  properly  speaking,  with  learning  to  see. 

But  it  is  not  for  youth  alone  that  the  great  Parent  of  crea- 
tion hath  provided.  Happiness  is  found  with  the  purring  cat, 
no  less  than  with  the  playful  kitten ;  in  the  arm-chair  of  doz- 
ing age,  as  well  as  in  either  the  sprightliness  of  the  dance,  or 
the  animation  of  the  chase.  To  novelty,  to  acuteness  of  sen- 
sation, to  hope,  to  ardour  of  pursuit,  succeeds,  what  is,  in  no 
inconsiderable  degree,  an  equivalent  for  them  all,  "  perception 
of  ease."  Herein  is  the  exact  difference  between  the  young 
and  the  old.  The  young  are  not  happy,  but  when  enjoying 
pleasure ;  the  old  are  happy,  when  free  from  pain.  And  this 
constitution  suits  with  the  degrees  of  animal  power  which  they 
respectively  possess.  The  vigour  of  youth  w\as  to  be  stimu- 
lated to  action  by  impatience  of  rest ;  whilst  to  the  imbecility 
of  age,  quietness  and  repose  become  positive  gratifications.  In 
one  important  respect  the  advantage  is  with  the  old.  A  state 
of  case  is,  generally  speaking,  more  attainable  than  a  state  of 
pleasure.  A  constitution,  therefore,  w^hich  can  enjoy  ease,  is 
preferable  to  that  wiiich  can  taste  only  pleasure.  This  same 
percejDtion  of  case  oftentimes  renders  old  age  a  condition  of 
great  comfort,  especially  when  riding  at  its  anchor  after  a  busy 
or  tempestuous  life.  It  is  well  described  by  Rousseau,  to  be 
the  interval  of  repose  and  enjoyment,  betw^een  the  hurry  and 
the  end  of  life.  How^  far  the  same  cause  extends  to  other  ani- 
mal natures,  cannot  be  judged  of  with  certainty.  The  appear- 
ance of  satisfaction,  with  w^hich  most  animals,  as  their  activity 
subsides,  seek  and  enjoy  rest,  affords  reason  to  believe,  that 
this  source  of  gratification  is  appointed  to  advanced  life,  under 
all,  or  most,  of  its  various  forms.  In  the  species  with  which 
we  are  best  acquainted,  namely  our  own,  I  am  far,  even  as  an 
observer  of  human  life,  from  thinking  that  youth  is  its  happiest 
season,  much  less  the  only  haj^py  one  :  as  a  Christian,  I  am 
warning  to  believe  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  hi  the 


TTSES  OF  PAIN.  29 

followdng  representation,  given  by  a  very  pions  writer,  as  well 
as  excellent  man :  "  To  the  intelligent  and  virtuous,  old  age 
presents  a  scene  of  tranquil  enjo}Tnents,  of  obedient  appetite, 
of  well-regulated  affections,  of  maturity  in  knowledge,  and  of 
calm  preparation  for  immortality.  In  this  serene  and  dignified 
state,  placed  as  it  were  on  the  confines  of  two  worlds,  the  mind 
of  a  good  man  reviews  what  is  past  with  the  complacency  of 
an  aiDproving  conscience ;  and  looks  forward,  with  humble 
confidence  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  with  devout  aspirations 
towards  His  eternal  and  everlasting  favour." 

mjz  mses  of  Pain. 

[The  foregoing  extract,  as  well  as  the  following,  is  taken 
from  the  chapter  "  Of  the  Goodness  of  the  Deity."  Like 
most  of  the  work,  it  was  interrupted  by  paroxysms  of  a  painful 
disorder,  which  eventually  proved  fatal.  Paley's  physician,  Dr 
Clark,  "  often  expressed  his  admiration  at  the  fortitude  mth 
which  he  bore  the  most  painful  attacks,  and  at  the  readiness, 
and  even  cheerfulness,  Avith  which,  on  the  first  respite  from 
pain,  he  resumed  his  literary  labours.  When  Dr  Paley 
speaks  of  the  power  which  pain  has  '  of  shedding  satisfaction 
over  intervals  of  ease,  which  few  enjoyments  exceed  j'  and 
assures  us  that  '  a  man  resting  from  severe  pain  is,  for  the 
time,  in  possession  of  feelings  which  undisturbed  health  can- 
not impart,'  the  sentiment  flowed  from  his  own  feelings.  He 
was  himself  that  man ;  and  it  is  consolatory,  amidst  the  nu- 
merous diseases  to  which  the  human  frame  is  liable,  to  find 
how  compatible  they  are  with  a  certain  degree  of  comfort,  and 
even  enjoyment.  Something  may,  indeed,  be  attributed  in  Dr 
Paley,  to  a  vigour  of  intellect  which  is  allowed  to  very  few ; 
but  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  resignation  in  suffering  is  less 
the  gift  of  great  intellectual  powers,  than  of  well-regulated  re- 
ligious feelings."  * 

'^  Meadlej's  Memoirs  of  Paley,  p,  205. 
c2 


30  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

The  subject  litis  been  carried  out  with  much  ingenuity,  and 
■with  many  additional  illustrations,  in  a  work  entitled  "  God  in 
Disease/'  by  Dr  Duncan  of  Dublin.] 

Of  bodily  2)ctin,  the  j^rincipal  observation,  no  doubt,  is  that 
which  wx  have  already  made,  and  already  dwelt  upon,  viz., 
"  that  it  is  seldom  the  object  of  contrivance ;  that  when  it  is 
so,  the  contrivance  rests  ultimately  in  good.'' 

To  which,  however,  may  be  added,  that  the  annexing  of  pain 
to  the  means  of  destruction  is  a  salutary  provision ;  inasmuch 
as  it  teaches  vigilance  and  caution  ;  both  gives  notice  of  danger, 
and  excites  those  endeavours  which  may  be  necessary  to  pre- 
servation. The  evil  consequence,  which  sometimes  arises  from 
the  want  of  that  timely  intimation  of  danger  which  pain  gives, 
is  known  to  the  inhabitants  of  cold  countries  by  the  example 
of  frostbitten  limbs.  I  have  conversed  -wdth  patients  who  had 
lost  toes  and  fingers  by  this  cause.  They  have  in  general  told 
me,  that  they  were  totally  unconscious  of  any  local  uneasiness 
at  the  time.  Some  I  have  heard  declare  that,  wliilst  they 
were  about  their  employment,  neither  their  situation,  nor  the 
state  of  the  air,  was  unpleasant.  They  felt  no  pain  j  they  sus- 
pected no  mischief;  till,  by  the  application  of  warmth,  they  dis- 
covered, too  late,  the  fatal  injury  which  some  of  their  extremities 
had  suffered.  I  say  that  this  shews  the  use  of  pain,  and  that 
we  stand  in  need  of  such  a  monitor.  I  believe  also  that  the 
use  extends  further  than  we  suppose,  or  can  now  trace ;  that  to 
disagreeable  sensations  we,  and  all  animals,  owe,  or  have  owed, 
many  habits  of  action  which  are  salutary,  but  which  are  become 
so  familiar,  as  not  easily  to  be  referred  to  their  origin. 

Pain  also  itself  is  not  without  its  alleviations.  It  may  be 
violent  and  frequent ;  but  it  is  seldom  both  violent  and  long- 
continued  :  and  its  pauses  and  intermissions  become  positive 
pleasures.  It  has  the  power  of  shedding  a  satisfaction  over 
intervals  of  case,  which,  I  believe,  few  enjoyments  exceed.     A 


PLEASURE  AFTER  PAIN.  31 

man  rising  from  a  fit  of  the  stone  or  gout,  is,  for  tlie  time, 
in  possession  of  feelings  which  undisturbed  health  cannot  im- 
part. They  may  be  dearly  bought,  but  still  they  are  to  be  set 
against  the  price.  And,  indeed,  it  depends  upon  the  duration 
and  urgency  of  the  pain,  whether  they  be  dearly  bought  or  not. 
I  am  far  from  being  sure  that  a  man  is  not  a  gainer  by  suffer- 
ing a  moderate  interruption  of  bodily  ease  for  a  couple  of  hours 
out  of  the  four-and- twenty.  Two  very  common  observations 
favour  this  opinion  :  one  is,  that  remissions  of  pain  call  forth, 
from  those  who  experience  them,  stronger  expressions  of  satis- 
faction and  of  gratitude  towards  both  the  author  and  the  in- 
strument of  their  relief,  than  are  excited  by  advantages  of  any 
other  kind  :  the  second  is,  that  the  spirits  of  sick  men  do  not 
sink  in  proportion  to  the  acuteness  of  their  sufferings,  but  rather 
appear  to  be  roused  and  supported,  not  by  pain,  but  by  the 
high  degree  of  comfort  which  they  derive  from  its  cessation,  or 
even  its  subsidency,  whenever  that  occurs;  and  which  they 
taste  with  a  relish  that  diffuses  some  portion  of  mental  com- 
placency over  the  whole  of  that  mixed  state  of  sensations  in 
which  disease  has  placed  them. 


THE  CHrvISTIAN  EVIDENCE, 

JOSEPH  ADDISOX. 

After  his  retirement  fi'om  liis  brief  and  not  very  successful 
term  of  office  as  Secretary  of  State,  Addison  resumed  those  lite- 
rary labours  in  which  he  had  gained  for  himself  an  almost 
peerless  renown.  One  of  his  undertakings  was  a  defence  of 
the  Christian  religion.  The  portion  which  he  had  executed 
appeared  after  his  death,  and  although  it  adds  no  new  mate- 
rials to  the  proof,  it  possesses  an  interest  of  its  own  as  the 
work  of  Addison.* 

Under  this  head,  I  cannot  omit  that  which  apjDcars  to  me 
a  standing  miracle  in  the  three  first  centuries.  I  mean  that 
amazing  and  supernatural  courage  or  patience  which  was 
shewn  by  innumerable  multitudes  of  martyrs,  in  those  slow 
and  painful  torments  that  were  inflicted  on  them.  I  cannot 
conceive  a  man  placed  in  the  burning  iron  chair  at  Lyons, 
amid  the  insults  and  mockeries  of  a  crowded  amj^hitheatre, 
and  still  keeping  his  seat;  or  stretched  uj)on  a  grate  of  iron, 
over  coals  of  fire,  and  breathing  out  his  soul  among  the  exqui- 
site sufferings  of  such  a  tedious  execution,  rather  than  renounce 
his  religion,  or  blaspheme  his  Sa^dour.  Such  trials  seem  to 
me  above  the  strength  of  human  nature,  and  able  to  overbear 
duty,  reason,  faith,  conviction — nay,  and  the  most  absolute  cer- 
tainty of  a  future  state.  Humanity,  unassisted  in  an  extra- 
ordinary manner,  must  have  shaken  off  the  present  pressure, 
and  have  delivered  itself  out  of  such  a  dreadful  distress,  by 
any  means  that  could  have  been  suggested  to  it.     We  can 

*  Born  at  Milston,  Wiltsliire,  May  1,  1672:  died  at  Kensington,  June 
17,  1719. 


coj^stancy  of  eaely  christians.  33 

easily  imagine,  tliat  many  persons,  in  so  good  a  cause,  miglit 
lave  laid  down  their  lives  at  the  gibbet,  the  stake,  or  the 
)lock ;  but  to  expire  leisurely  among  the  most  exquisite  tor- 
ures,  when  they  might  come  out  of  them,  even  by  a  mental 
eservation,  or  an  hypocrisy  which  was  not  without  a  possibi- 
ity  of  being  followed  by  repentance  and  forgiveness,  has  some- 
hing  in  it,  so  far  beyond  the  force  and  natural  streng-th  of 
nortals,  that  one  cannot  but  think  there  was  some  miraculous 
)Ower  to  support  the  sufferer. 

We  find  the  Church  of  Smjnrna,  in  that  admirable  letter 
vhich  gives  an  account  of  the  death  of  Polycarp,  their  beloved 
)ishop,  mentioning  the  cruel  torments  of  other  early  martyrs 
or  Christianity,  are  of  oj^inion,  that  our  Saviour  stood  by 
hem  in  a  vision,  and  personally  conversed  with  them,  to  give 
Jiem  strength  and  comfort  during  the  bitterness  of  their  long- 
;ontinued  agonies;  and  we  have  the  story  of  a  young  man, 
vho,  having  suffered  many  tortures,  escaped  with  life,  and  told 
lis  fellow-Christians,  that  the  pain  of  them  had  been  rendered 
;olerable,  by  the  presence  of  an  angel  that  stood  by  him,  and 
viped  off  the  tears  and  sweat,  which  ran  down  his  face  whilst 
le  lay  under  his  sufferings.  We  are  assured  at  least  that  the 
irst  martyr  for  Christianity  was  encouraged  in  his  last 
noments,  by  a  vision  of  that  divine  Person,  for  whom  he  suf- 
fered, and  into  whose  presence  he  was  then  hastening. 

Let  any  man  calmly  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  after 
reading  these  terrible  conflicts  in  which  the  ancient  martyrs 
md  confessors  were  engaged,  Avhen  they  passed  through  such 
iev»^  inventions  and  varieties  of  pain,  as  tired  their  tormentors ; 
md  ask  himself,  however  zealous  and  sincere  he  is  in  his  reli- 
gion, whether,  under  such  acute  and  lingering  tortures,  he 
;ould  still  have  held  fast  his  integrity,  and  have  professed  his 
faith  to  the  last,  without  a  supernatural  assistance  of  some 
kind  or  other.  For  my  part,  when  I  consider  that  it  was  not 
Ml  unaccountable  obstinacy  in  a  single  man,  or  in  any  par- 


34  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY. 

ticular  set  of  men,  in  some  extraordinary  juncture — but  that 
there  were  multitudes  of  each  sex,  of  every  age,  of  difFereni 
countries  and  conditions,  who,  for  near  three  hundred  years  to- 
gether, made  this  glorious  confession  of  their  faith,  in  the  midst 
of  tortures,  and  in  the  hour  of  death;  I  must  conclude,  that  they 
were  either  of  another  make  than  men  are  at  present,  or  that 
they  had  such  miraculous  supports  as  were  peculiar  to  those 
times  of  Christianity,  when  mthout  them  perhaps  the  very 
name  of  it  might  have  been  extinguished. 

It  is  certain,  that  the  deaths  and  sufferings  of  the  primitive 
Christians  had  a  great  share  in  the  conversion  of  those  learned 
Pagans,  who  lived  in  the  ages  of  persecution,  which,  with  some 
intervals  and  abatements,  lasted  near  three  hundred  years  after 
our  Saviour.  Justin  Martyr,  Tertullian,  Lactantius,  Arnobius, 
and  others,  tell  us  that  this  first  of  all  alarmed  their  curiosity, 
roused  their  attention,  and  made  them  seriously  inquisitive 
into  the  nature  of  that  religion,  which  could  endue  the  mind 
with  so  much  strength,  and  overcome  the  fear  of  death — nay, 
raise  an  earnest  desire  of  it,  though  it  appeared  in  all  its  ter- 
rors. This  they  found  had  not  been  effected  by  all  the  doc- 
trines of  those  philosophers  whom  they  had  thoroughly  studied, 
and  who  had  been  labouring  at  this  great  point.  The  sight  of 
these  dying  and  tormented  martyrs  engaged  them  to  search 
into  the  history  and  doctrines  of  Him  for  whom  they  suffered. 
The  more  they  searched,  the  more  they  were  convinced ;  till  their 
conviction  grew  so  strong,  that  they  themselves  embraced  the 
same  truths,  and  either  actually  laid  down  their  lives,  or  were 
always  in  a  readiness  to  do  it,  rather  than  depart  from  them. 

BISHOP  BUTLEK. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  Joseph  Butler  wi'ote,  "I  design 
the  search  after  truth  as  the  business  of  my  life."  He  was 
then  a  student  in  a  dissenting  academy.  Before  he  died,  he 
held  the  richest  see  in  England,  and  had  refused  the  primacy; 


BISHOP  BUTLEK.  35 

nd,  had  higlier  honours  been  possible,  posterity  would  gladly 
ave  countersigned  their  bestowment  on  the  greatest  light 
^hich  has  ever  adorned  the  Church  of  England.  But  these 
istinctions  were  not  of  his  seeking.  He  sought  for  "  truth," 
nd  to  the  searcher  after  truth  came  w^ealth,  preferment, 
[ties ;  and  as  they  could  not  exalt  him,  so  neither  did  they 
late  him.  In  the  lordly  halls  of  Durham  he  was  as  simple 
1  his  habits  and  as  lowly  in  his  self-estimation  as  in  the 
cademy  at  Gloucester;  and  it  is  the  suffrage  of  mankind, 
ot  the  accident  of  individual  patronage,  which  fixes  the  rank 
f  men,  like  William  Shakspeare,  Francis  Bacon,  and  Joseph 
lutler. 

He  was  born  at  Wansted,  in  Berkshire,  May  18,  1692. 
'he  same  village  gave  birth  to  Alfred  the  Great.  Like  his 
jllow-student,  at  Mr  Jones's  academy,  Archbishop  >Secker, 
aving  seen  reason  to  join  the  Church  of  England,  his  father 
mi  him  to  Oriel  College,  Oxford;  and,  in  1718,  after  being 
rdained,  he  received  the  honourable  appointment  of  Preacher 
t  the  Rolls.  Here  he  delivered,  when  about  thirty  years  of 
ge,  those  wonderful  sermons  which,  by  vindicating  the  supre- 
lacy  of  conscience,  have  found  for  ethical  science  a  basis  deep 
nd  divine.  They  were  published  in  1726,  and  ten  years 
fterwards,  i.e.,  in  1736,  appeared  that  master-work  in  modern 
pologetics — "The  Analogy  of  ReHgion  to  the  Constitution 
nd  Course  of  Nature."  Its  place  and  function  have  been 
reU.  described  in  the  epitaph  which  Southey  wrote,  and  which 
lay  now  be  read  in  Bristol  Cathedral  on  Butler's  monument, 
-"  Others  had  established  the  historical  and  prophetical 
rounds  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  that  sure  testimony  of 
:s  truth,  which  is  found  in  its  perfect  adaptation  to  the  heart 
f  man.  It  was  reserved  for  him  to  develop  its  analogy  to 
hie  constitution  and  course  of  nature,  and  laying  his  strong 
Dundations  in  the  depth  of  that  great  argument,  there  to 
onstruct  another  and  irrefragable  proof,  thus  rendering  philo- 


3G  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY, 

sopliy  subservient  to  faitli,  and  finding  in  outward  and  visible 
tilings  the  t}^3e  and  evidence  of  those  within  the  veil." 

Butler  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Bristol  in  1738,  and  was 
translated  to  the  see  of  Durham  in  1750.  He  died  at  Bath; 
June  IG,  1752. 

The  strength  of  the  "  Analogy"  is  its  entireness,  A  bar  of 
its  iron  can  give  no  conception  of  the  Menai  Bridge — a  chip 
of  rock  conveys  no  notion  of  the  Jungfrau.  A  specimen 
can  do  little  more  than  shew  the  unadorned  simplicity  of 
Butler's  language,  his  candour,  and  his  carefdness.  To  appre- 
ciate the  full  force  of  the  mighty  argument,  one  needs  to  be 
"an  old  inhabitant,"  familiar  with  it  in  all  the  changing  moods 
of  his  own  experience,  and  somewhat  acquainted  with  those 
arcana  which  escape  the  casual  visitor.  To  such  a  mind 
nothing  can  be  more  magnificent  than  its  mass,  more  exhaust- 
less  than  its  unpretending  but  suggestive  details,  or  more 
cogent  than  its  full  and  final  momentum,  which  leaves  so  little 
choice  between  faith  and  absolute  insanity. 

There  is  not,  I  think,  anything  relating  to  Christianity 
which  has  been  more  objected  against  than  the  mediation  of 
Christ,  in  some  or  other  of  its  parts.  Yet,  upon  thorough 
consideration,  there  seems  nothing  less  justly  liable  to  it. 
For 

1.  The  wdiole  analogy  of  nature  removes  all  imagined  pre- 
sumption against  the  general  notion  of  "  a  Mediator  between 
God  and  man."  For  we  find,  all  li^dng  creatures  are  brought 
into  the  w^orld,  and  their  life  in  infancy  is  preserved,  by  the 
instrumentality  of  others ;  and  every  satisfaction  of  it,  some 
way  or  other,  is  bestowed  by  the  like  means.  So  that  the 
visible  government  which  God  exercises  over  the  world,  is  by 
the  instrumentality  and  mediation  of  others.     And  how  far 


MEDIATIO^^.  37 

Sis  invisible  government  be  or  be  not  so,  it  is  impossible  to 
determine  at  all  by  reason.  And  the  supposition  that  part 
of  it  is  so,  appears,  to  say  the  least,  altogether  as  credible  as 
the  contrary.  There  is,  then,  no  sort  of  objection,  from  the 
light  of  nature,  against  the  general  notion  of  a  mediator  be- 
tween God  and  man,  considered  as  a  doctrine  of  Christianity, 
or  as  an  appointment  in  this  dispensation  ;  since  we  find  by 
experience  that  God  does  appoint  mediators,  to  be  the  instru- 
ments of  good  and  evil  to  us,  the  instruments  of  his  justice 
and  his  mercy.  And  the  objection  referred  to  is  urged,  not 
against  mediation  in  that  high,  eminent,  and  pecuKar  sense  in 
which  Christ  is  our  mediator;  but  absolutely  against  the  whole 
notion  itself  of  a  mediator  at  all. 

2.  As  we  must  suppose  that  the  world  is  under  the  proper 
moral  government  of  God,  or  in  a  state  of  religion,  before  we 
can  enter  into  consideration  of  the  revealed  doctrine  concern- 
ing the  redemption  of  it  by  Christ ;  so  that  supposition  is  here 
to  be  distinctly  taken  notice  of.  Now,  the  divine  moral  govern- 
ment which  religion  teaches  us,  implies  that  the  consequence 
of  vice  shall  be  misery,  in  some  future  state,  by  the  righteous 
judgment  of  God.  That  such  consequent  punishment  shall 
take  effect  by  His  appointment,  is  necessarily  implied.  But  as 
it  is  not  in  any  sort  to  be  supposed  that  we  are  made 
acquainted  with  all  the  ends  or  reasons  for  which  it  is  fit  future 
punishments  should  be  inflicted,  or  why  God  has  appointed 
such  and  such  consequent  misery  should  follow  vice  ;  and  as 
we  are  altogether  in  the  dark  how  or  in  what  manner  it  shall 
follow,  by  what  immediate  occasions,  or  by  the  instrumentality 
of  what  means;  there  is  no  absurdity  in  supposing  it  may 
follow  in  a  way  analogous  to  that  in  which  many  miseries 
follow  such  and  such  courses  of  action  at  present — poverty, 
sickness,  infamy,  untimely  death  by  diseases,  death  from  the 
hands  of  civil  justice.  There  is  no  absurdity  in  supposing 
future  punishment  may  follow  wickedness  of  course,   as  we 

VOL.  IV.  D 


38  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

speak,  or  in  tlie  way  of  natural  consequence  from  God's  ori- 
ginal constitution  of  tlio  world ;  from  the  nature  He  has  given 
us,  and  from  the  condition  in  which  He  jDlaces  us  :  or,  in  a  like 
manner,  as  a  person  rashly  trifling  uj^on  a  precipice,  in  the  way 
of  natural  consequence,  falls  down ;  in  the  way  of  natural  con- 
sequence, breaks  his  limbs,  suppose;  in  the  way  of  natural 
consequence  of  this,  without  help,  perishes.  .  .  . 

3.  Upon  this  supposition,  \dz.,  that  future  punishment  may 
follow  wickedness  in  the  way  of  natural  consequence,  or  ac- 
cording to  some  general  laws  of  government  already  established 
in  the  universe,  or  even  without  it,  we  may  observe  somewhat 
much  to  the  present  purpose  in  the  constitution  of  nature  or 
appointments  of  Providence,  the  jDrovision  which  is  made — 
that  all  the  bad  natural  consequences  of  men's  actions  should 
not  always  actually  follow ;  or,  that  such  bad  consequences  as, 
according  to  the  settled  course  of  things,  would  inevitably  have 
followed  if  not  prevented,  should  in  certain  degrees  be  pre- 
vented. We  are  apt,  presumptuously,  to  imagine  that  the 
world  might  have  been  so  constituted  as  that  there  would  not 
have  been  any  such  thing  as  misery  or  evil.  On  the  contrary, 
we  find  the  Author  of  nature  permits  it.  But  then  He  has 
provided  reliefs,  and  in  many  cases  perfect  remedies  for  it,  after 
some  pains  and  difficulties — reliefs  and  remedies  even  for  that 
evil  which  is  the  fruit  of  our  own  misconduct,  and  which,  in 
the  course  of  nature,  would  have  continued  and  ended  in  our 
own  destruction,  but  for  such  remedies.  And  this  is  an  instance 
both  of  severity  and  indulgence  in  the  constitution  of  nature. 
Thus  all  the  bad  consequences  now  mentioned,  of  a  man's 
trifling  upon  a  precipice,  might  be  prevented.  And  though 
all  were  not,  yet  some  of  them  might,  by  proper  interpositions, 
if  not  rejected ;  by  another's  coming  to  the  rash  man's  relief, 
with  his  own  laying  hold  on  that  relief,  in  such  sort  as  the 
case  required.  Persons  may  do  a  great  deal  themselves  to- 
wards preventing  the  bad  consequences  of  their  follies,  and 


CAN  BAD  EFFECTS  BE  PREVENTED  ?  39 

Liore  may  be  done  by  themselves,  together  with  tlie  assist- 
nce  of  others,  their  fellow- creatures,  which  assistance  nature 
ecpires  and  prompts  us  to.  This  is  the  general  constitution 
f  the  world.  Now,  suppose  it  had  been  so  constituted,  that 
fter  such  actions  were  done  as  were  foreseen  naturally  to  draw 
fter  them  misery  to  the  doer,  it  should  have  been  no  more 
n  human  power  to  have  prevented  that  naturally  consequent 
iiisery  in  any  instance  than  it  is  in  all ;  no  one  can  say  whether 
uch  a  more  severe  constitution  of  things  might  not  yet  have 
>een  really  good.  But  that,  on  the  contrary,  provision  is  made 
>y  nature  that  we  may  and  do,  to  so  great  degree,  prevent 
he  bad  natural  effects  of  our  follies ;  this  may  be  called  mercy 
>v  compassion  in  the  original  constitution  of  the  world — com- 
passion as  distinguished  from  goodness  in  general.  And  the  whole 
:nown  constitution  and  course  of  things  affording  us  instances 
f  such  compassion,  it  would  be  according  to  the  analogy  of 
lature  to  hope,  that  however  ruinous  the  natural  consequences 
if  vice  might  be  from  the  general  laws  of  God's  government 
•ver  the  universe,  yet  provision  might  be  made,  possibly  might 
lave  been  originally  made,  for  preventing  those  ruinous  conse- 
[uences  from  inevitably  following,  at  least  from  following  uni- 
versally and  in  all  cases. 

4.  There  seems  no  probability  that  anything  we  could  do 
should  alone,  and  of  itself,  prevent  them  :  prevent  their  foUow- 
ng,  or  being  inflicted.  But  one  would  think,  at  least,  it  were 
mpossible  that  the  contrary  should  be  thought  certain.  For 
ve  are  not  acquainted  with  the  whole  of  the  case.  We  are  not 
nformed  of  all  the  reasons  which  render  it  fit  that  future  punish- 
nent  should  be  inflicted,  and,  therefore,  cannot  know  whether 
mything  we  could  do  would  make  such  an  alteration  as  to 
•ender  it  fit  that  they  should  be  remitted.  We  do  not  know 
vhat  the  whole  natural  or  appointed  consequences  of  vice  are, 
lor  in  what  way  they  would  follow,  if  not  prevented ;  and, 
therefore,  can  in  no  sort  say  whether  we  could  do  anything 


40 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUKY. 


wliicli  would  be  sufficient  to  iDrevcnt  them.  Our  ignorance  being 
tlius  manifest,  let  us  recollect  the  analogy  of  nature  or  providence. 
For  though  this  may  be  but  a  slight  ground  to  raise  a  positive 
opinion  upon  in  this  matter,  yet  it  is  sufficient  to  answer  a  mere 
arbitrary  assertion,  without  any  Idnd  of  evidence,  urged  by  way  of 
objection  against  a  doctrine,  the  proof  of  which  is  not  reason,  but 
revelation.  Consider,  then,  people  ruin  their  fortimes  by  ex- 
travagance; they  bring  diseases  upon  themselves  by  excess; 
they  incur  the  penalties  of  civil  laws,  and  surely  civil  govern- 
ment is  natural :  will  sorrow  for  these  follies  past,  and  beha^dng 
well  for  the  future,  alone  and  of  itself,  prevent  the  natural 
consequences  of  them?  On  the  contrary,  men's  natural  abili- 
ties of  helping  themselves  are  often  impaired;  or  if  not,  yet 
they  are  forced  to  be  beholden  to  the  assistance  of  others,  upon 
several  accounts,  and  in  different  ways :  assistance  which  they 
would  have  had  no  occasion  for,  had  it  not  been  for  their 
misconduct,  but  which,  in  the  disadvantageous  condition  they 
have  reduced  themselves  to,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  their 
recovery,  and  retrieving  their  affaii'S.  Now,  since  this  is  our 
case,  considering  ourselves  merely  as  inhabitants  of  this  world, 
and  as  having  a  temporal  interest  here,  under  the  natural 
government  of  God,  which,  however,  has  a  great  deal  moral  in 
it ;  why  is  it  not  supposable  that  this  may  be  our  case  also, 
in  our  more  important  capacity,  as  under  His  perfect  moral 
government,  and  having  a  more  general  and  future  interest 
depending?  If  we  have  misbehaved  in  this  higher  capacity, 
and  rendered  ourselves  obnoxious  to  the  future  punishment 
which  God  has  annexed  to  vice;  it  is  plainly  credible  that 
behaving  well  for  the  time  to  come  may  be — not  useless,  God 
forbid — but  wholly  insufficient,  alone  and  of  itself,  to  prevent 
that  punishment,  or  to  put  us  in  the  condition  wliich  we 
should  have  been  in  had  we  preserved  our  innocence. 

And  though  we  ought  to  reason  with  all  reverence,   when- 
ever we  reason  concerning  the  divine  conduct,  yet  it  may  be 


THE  REVEALED  REMEDY,  41 

added,  tliat  it  is  clearly  contrary  to  all  our  notions  of  govern- 
ment, as  well  as  to  what  is,  in  fact,  the  general  constitution  of 
nature,  to  suppose  that  doing  well  for  the  future  should,  in  all 
cases,  prevent  all  the  judicial  bad  consequences  of  having  done 
evil,  or  all  the  punishment  annexed  to  disobedience.  And  we 
have  manifestly  nothing  from  whence  to  determine  in  what 
degree,  and  in  what  cases,  reformation  would  prevent  this 
punishment,  even  supposing  that  it  would  in  some.  And 
though  the  efficacy  of  repentance  itself,  alone,  to  prevent  what 
mankind  had  rendered  themselves  obnoxious  to,  and  recover 
what  they  had  forfeited,  is  now  insisted  upon,  in  opposition  to 
Christianity  J  yet,  by  the  general  prevalence  of  propitiatory 
sacrifices  over  the  heathen  word,  this  notion  of  repentance 
alone  being  sufficient  to  expiate  guilt,  appears  to  be  contrary  to 
the  general  sense  of  mankind. 

Upon  the  whole,  then,  had  the  laws,  the  general  laws  of 
God's  government,  been  permitted  to  operate  without  any  in- 
terposition in  our  behalf,  the  future  punishment,  for  aught  we 
know  to  the  contrary,  or  have  any  reason  to  thinly,  must  inevi- 
tably have  followed,  notwithstanding  anything  we  could  have 
done  to  prevent  it.     Now, 

5.  In  this  darkness,  or  this  light  of  nature — call  it  which 
you  please — revelation  comes  in;  confirms  every  doubting  fear 
which  could  enter  into  the  heart  of  man  concerning  the  future 
Linprevented  consecjuence  of  wickedness;  supposes  the  world  to 
be  in  a  state  of  ruin  (a  supposition  which  seems  the  very 
ground  of  the  Christian  dispensation,  and  which,  if  not  i^rove- 
able  by  reason,  yet  it  is  in  nowise  contrary  to  it) ;  teaches  us, 
too,  that  the  rules  of  divine  government  are  such  as  not  to 
admit  of  pardon  immediately  and  directly  upon  repentance,  or 
by  the  sole  efficacy  of  it ;  but  then  teaches,  at  the  same  time, 
what  nature  might  justly  have  hoped,  that  the  moral  govern- 
ment of  the  universe  was  not  so  rigid,  but  that  there  was  room 
for  an  interposition  to  avert  the  fatal  consequences  of  vice; 

d2 


42  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUBY. 

Avbicli,  therefore,  by  this  means,  does  admit  of  pardon.  Reve- 
lation teaches  iis  that  the  unknown  laws  of  God's  more  general 
government,  no  less  than  the  particular  laws  by  which  we  ex- 
perience He  governs  us  at  present,  are  compassionate,  as  well 
as  good,  in  the  more  general  notion  of  goodness;  and  that  He 
hath  mercifully  provided  that  there  should  be  an  interposition 
to  prevent  the  destruction  of  human  kind,  whatever  that  de- 
struction unprevented  would  have  been.  "  God  so  loved  the 
world,  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever 
believeth" — not,  to  be  sure,  in  a  speculative,  but  in  a  practical 
sense — ^'that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish;" 
gave  His  >Son  in  the  same  way  of  goodness  to  the  world,  as  He 
affords  particular  persons  the  friendly  assistance  of  their  fellow- 
creatures,  when,  without  it,  their  temporal  ruin  would  be  the 
certain  consequence  of  their  follies ;  in  the  same  way  of  good- 
ness, I  say,  though  in  a  transcendent  and  infinitely  higher 
degree.  And  the  Son  of  God  "  loved  us,  and  gave  himself  for 
us,"  with  a  love  which  He  himself  compares  to  that  of  human 
friendship;  though,  in  this  case,  all  comparisons  must  fall  infi- 
nitely short  of  the  thing  intended  to  be  illustrated  by  them. 
He  interposed  in  such  a  manner  as  was  necessary  and  effectual 
to  prevent  that  execution  of  justice  upon  simiers,  which  God 
had  appointed  should  otherwise  have  been  executed  upon 
them;  or  in  such  a  manner  as  to  prevent  that  punishment 
from  actually  following,  which,  according  to  the  general  laws 
of  divine  government,  must  have  followed  the  sins  of  the 
world,  had  it  not  been  for  such  interposition. 

BISHOP  NEWTOX. 

Like  the  argument  from  analogy,  the  proof  from  the  fulfil- 
ment of  prophecy  is  cumulative.  In  1754-58  this  argument 
was  set  forth  with  much  fulness  in  "  Dissertations  on  the  Pro- 
phecies," hy  Dr  Thomas  Newton,  then  rector  of  St  Mary-le-Bow, 


BISHOP  NEWTON.  43 

iiid  afterwards  Bisliop  of  Bristol.  Tlie  principle  of  prophetic 
evidence  lias  since  been  elucidated  -witli  eminent  ability  by  the 
ate  Dr  Lyall,  Dean  of  Canterbury,  and  fresh  light  has  been 
thrown  on  the  fulfilment  of  special  predictions  by  the  abun- 
dant diligence  of  Dr  Keith ;  but  the  work  of  Newton  is  not 
superseded.  Until  its  appearance  the  field  w^as  poorly  occu- 
pied, and  in  many  departments  he  has  left  little  to  be  done  by 
biis  successors. 

Dr  N'ewton  was  born  at  Lichfield,  January  1,  1704;  and 
:lied  at  London,  February  14,  1782. 

^r0pi&ccic3  rerjartimtj  t!}c  desolation  of  Jutra, 

The  desolation  of  Judea  is  another  memorable  instance  of 
;he  truth  of  prophecy.  It  was  foretold  so  long  ago  as  by 
Moses  (Lev.  xxvi.  33) — "  I  will  scatter  you  among  the  heathen, 
and  will  draw  out  a  sword  after  you ;  and  your  land  shall  be 
lesolate,  and  your  cities  waste."  It  w^as  foretold  again  by 
[saiah,  the  prophet  speaking,  as  prophets  often  do,  of  things 
future  as  present  (chap.  i.  7-9) — "  Your  country  is  desolate, 
youv  cities  are  burnt  with  fire ;  your  land,  strangers  devour  it 
in  your  presence,  and  it  is  desolate,  as  overthro'wii  by  strangers. 
A.nd  the  daughter  of  Zion  is  left  as  a  cottage  in  a  vineyard, 
IS  a  lodge  in  a  garden  of  cucumbers,  as  a  besieged  city." 

The  same  thing  is  expressed  or  implied  in  other  places; 
ind  hath  not  the  state  of  Judea  now  for  many  ages  been  ex- 
actly answerable  to  this  description  ?  That  a  countiy  should 
be  depopulated  and  desolated  by  the  incursions  and  depreda- 
tions of  foreign  armies  is  nothing  wonderful;  but  that  it 
should  lie  so  many  ages  in  this  miserable  condition  is  more 
than  man  could  foresee,  and  could  be  revealed  only  by  God. 
A.  celebrated  French  waiter,  in  his  History  of  the  Crusades,  j^re- 
tends  to  exhibit  a  true  picture  of  Palestine,  and  he  says,  that 
then  "  it  w^as  just  what  it  is  at  present,  the  worst  of  all  the 


44  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

inhabited  countries  of  Asia,  It  is  almost  T^-liolly  covered  with 
parched  rocks,  in  which  there  is  not  one  line  of  soil.  If  this 
small  territory  were  cultivated,  it  might  not  improperly  be 
compared  to  Switzerland."  But-  there  is  no  need  of  citing 
authorities  to  prove  that  the  land  is  forsaken  of  its  inhabitants, 
is  uncultivated,  unfruitful,  and  desolate;  for  the  enemies  of 
our  religion  make  this  very  thing  an  objection  to  the  truth  of 
our  religion.  They  say  that  so  barren  and  wretched  a  country 
could  never  have  been  a  land  flowing  tvith  milk  and  honey, 
nor  have  supplied  and  maintained  such  multitudes  as  it  is 
represented  to  have  done  in  Scripture.  But  they  do  not  see 
or  consider,  that  hereby  the  prophecies  are  fulfilled;  so  that 
it  is  rather  an  evidence  for  the  truth  of  our  religion,  than  any 
argument  against  it. 

The  country  was  formerly  a  good  country,  if  we  may  believe 
the  concurrent  testimony  of  those  who  should  best  know  it, 
the  people  who  inhabited  it.  Aristeas,  and  Josephus  too, 
speak  largely  in  commendation  of  its  fruitfulness;  and  though 
something  may  be  allowed  to  national  prejudices,  yet  they 
would  hardly  have  had  the  confidence  to  assert  a  thing  which 
all  the  world  could  easily  contradict  and  disprove.  Nay,  there 
are  even  heathen  authors  who  bear  testimony  to  the  fruitful- 
ness of  the  land:  though  we  presume,  that  after  the  Baby- 
lonish captivity  it  never  recovered  to  be  agam  what  it  was 
before.  Strabo  describes,  indeed,  the  country  about  Jeru- 
salem as  rocky  and  barren,  but  he  commends  other  parts, 
particularly  about  Jordan  and  Jericho.  Hecata^us,  quoted  by 
Josephus,  giveth  it  the  character  of  one  of  the  best  and  most 
fertile  countries.  Tacitus  saith,  that  it  raineth  seldom,  the  soil 
is  fruitful,  fraits  abound  as  with  us,  and  besides  them  the 
balsam  and  palm-trees.  And  notwithstanding  the  long  deso- 
lation of  the  land,  there  are  still  visible  such  marks  and 
tokens  of  fruitfulness,  as  may  convince  any  man  that  it  once 
deserv^ed  the  character  which  is  given  of  it  in  Scripture.     I 


FORMER  FERTILITY  OF  PALESTINE,  45 

would  only  refer  the  reader  to  two  learned  and  ingenious 
travellers  of  our  own  nation,  Mr  ]\Iaundrell  and  Dr  Shaw;  and 
he  will  fully  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  what  is  here  asserted. 

The  former  says,  that  "  all  along  this  day's  travel  (March  25) 
from  Kane  Leban  to  Beer,  and  also  as  far  as  we  could  sec 
around,  the  country  discovered  a  quite  different  face  from  what 
it  had  before,  x>resenting  nothing  to  the  view  in  most  places 
but  naked  rocks,  mountains,  and  precipices.  At  sight  of 
which,  pilgrims  are  apt  to  be  much  astonished  and  baulked 
in  their  expectations,  finding  that  country  in  such  an  inhospi- 
table condition,  concerning  whose  pleasantness  and  plenty  they 
had  before  formed  in  their  minds  such  high  ideas  from  the 
description  given  of  it  in  the  Word  of  God,  insomuch  that  it 
almost  startles  their  faith  w^hen  they  reflect  how  it  could  be 
possible  for  a  land  like  this  to  supply  food  for  so  prodigious  a 
number  of  inhabitants  as  are  said  to  have  been  polled  in  the 
twelve  tribes  at  one  time,  the  sum  given  in  by  Joab  (2  Sam. 
xxiv.)  amounting  to  no  less  than  thirteen  hundred  thousand 
fighting  men,  besides  women  and  children.  But  it  is  certain 
that  any  man,  who  is  not  a  little  biassed  to  infidelity  before, 
may  see,  as  he  passes  along,  arguments  enough  to  support  his 
faith  against  such  scruples.  For  it  is  obvious  for  any  one  to 
observe,  that  these  rocks  and  hills  must  have  been  anciently 
covered  mth  earth,  and  cultivated,  and  made  to  contribute  to 
the  maintenance  of  the  inhabitants,  no  less  than  if  the  country 
had  been  all  plain  ;  nay,  perhaps  much  more,  forasmuch  as 
such  a  mountainous  and  uneven  surface  affords  a  larger  space 
of  ground  for  cultivation  than  this  country  would  amount  to, 
if  it  were  all  reduced  to  a  perfect  level.  For  the  husbanding 
of  these  mountains,  their  manner  was  to  gather  up  the  stones, 
and  place  them  in  several  lines  along  the  sides  of  the  hills  in 
form  of  a  wall.  By  such  borders  they  supported  the  mould 
from  tumbling  or  being  washed  down,  and  formed  many  beds 
of  excellent  soil,  rising  gradually  one  above  another,  from  the 


46  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY, 

bottom  to  the  tojD  of  the  mountains.  Of  this  form  of  cultm-e 
you  see  evident  footsteps  wherever  you  go  in  all  the  mountains 
of  Palestine.  Thus  the  very  rocks  were  made  fruitful.  And 
l^erhaps  there  is  no  spot  of  ground  in  this  whole  land,  that  w\as 
not  formerly  improved  to  the  production  of  something  or 
other  ministering  to  the  sustenance  of  human  life.  For  than 
the  plain  countries  nothing  can  be  more  fruitful,  whether  for 
the  production  of  corn  or  cattle,  and  consequently  of  milk. 
The  hills,  though  improper  for  all  cattle  except  goats,  yet 
being  disposed  into  such  beds  as  are  before  described,  served 
very  well  to  bear  corn,  melons,  gourds,  cucumbers,  and  such 
like  garden  stuff,  which  makes  the  principal  food  of  these  coun- 
tries for  several  months  in  the  je^r.  The  most  rocky  parts  of 
all,  which  could  not  well  be  adjusted  in  that  manner  for  the 
production  of  corn,  might  yet  serve  for  the  plantation  of  vines 
and  olive  trees,  which  delight  to  extract,  the  one  its  fatness, 
the  other  its  sprightly  juice,  chiefly  out  of  such  dry  and  flinty 
places.  And  the  great  plain  joining  to  the  Dead  Sea,  which, 
by  reason  of  its  saltness,  might  be  thought  unserviceable  both 
for  cattle,  corn,  olives,  and  vines,  had  yet  its  proper  usefulness 
for  the  nourishment  of  bees,  and  for  the  fabric  of  hone}^,  of 
which  Josephus  gives  us  his  testimony,  De  Bell.  Jud.  lib.  5, 
cap.  4.  And  I  have  reason  to  believe  it,  because  when  I  was 
there  I  perceived  in  many  places  a  smell  of  honey  and  wax,  as 
strong  as  if  one  had  been  in  an  apiary.  Why,  then,  might  not 
this  country  very  well  maintain  the  vast  number  of  its  inhabi- 
tants, being  in  every  part  so  productive  of  either  milk,  corn, 
wine,  oil,  or  honey,  which  are  the  principal  food  of  these 
eastern  nations — the  constitution  of  their  bodies,  and  the 
nature  of  their  clime,  inclining  them  to  a  more  abstemious  diet 
than  we  use  in  England  and  other  colder  regions  1 " 

The  other  asserts,  that  "the  Holy  Land,  were  it  as  well 
peopled  and  cultivated  as  in  former  times,  would  still  be  more 
fruitful  than  the  very  best  part  of  the  coast  of  Syria  and 


SHAW'S  TESTIMONY.  47 

Phoenice.  For  the  soil  itself  is  generally  much  richer,  and,  all 
things  considered,  yields  a  more  preferable  crop.  Thus,  the 
cotton  that  is  gathered  in  the  plains  of  Ramah,  Esdraelon,  and 
Zebulun,  is  in  greater  esteem  than  what  is  cultivated  near 
Sidon  and  Tripoli;  neither  is  it  possible  for  pulse,  wheat,  or 
any  sort  of  grain,  to  be  more  excellent  than  what  is  commonly 
sold  at  Jerusalem.  The  barrenness,  or  scarcity  rather,  which 
some  authors  may  either  ignorantly  or  maliciously  comj)lain 
of,  does  not  proceed  from  the  incapacity  or  natural  unfruitful- 
ness  of  the  country,  but  from  the  want  of  inhabitants,  and  the 
great  aversion  there  is  to  labour  and  industry  in  those  few 
who  possess  it.  There  are,  besides,  such  perpetual  discords 
and  depredations  among  the  petty  princes,  who  share  this  fine 
country,  that  allowing  it  was  better  peopled,  yet  there  would 
be  small  encouragement  to  sow,  when  it  was  uncertain  who 
should  gather  in  the  harvest.  Otherwise,  the  land  is  a  good 
land,  and  still  capable  of  affording  its  neighbours  the  lilie  sup- 
plies of  corn  and  oil,  which  it  is  known  to  have  done  in  the 
time  of  Solomon.  The  parts,  particularly  about  Jerusalem, 
being  described  to  be  rocky  and  mountainous,  have  been  there- 
fore supposed  to  be  barren  and  unfruitful.  Yet  granting  this 
conclusion,  which  is  far  from  being  just,  a  kingdom  is  not  to  be 
denominated  barren  or  unfruitful  from  one  part  of  it  only,  but 
from  the  whole.  Nay,  further,  the  blessing  that  was  given  to 
Judah  was  not  of  the  same  kind  with  the  blessing  of  Asher  or 
of  Issachar,  that  his  hread  sJioidd  he  fat,  or  his  land  shoidd  he 
pleasant,  buj  that  liis  eyes  shoidd  he  red  with  ivine,  and  his 
teeth  shoidd  he  white  with  milk  (Gen.  xlix.  12).  Moses  also 
maketh  milk  and  honey  (the  chief  dainties  and  subsistence  of 
the  earlier  ages,  as  they  continue  to  be  of  the  Bedowcen  Arabs) 
to  be  the  glory  of  all  lands :  all  which  productions  are  either 
actually  enjoyed,  or  at  least  might  be,  by  proper  care  and 
application.  The  plenty  of  wine  alone  is  wanting  at  present; 
yet,  from  the  goodness  of  that  little  which  is  still  made  at 


48  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY. 

Jerusalem  and  Hebron,  we  find  that  these  barren  rocks  (as  they 
are  called)  might  yield  a  much  greater  quantity,  if  the  abste- 
mious Turk  and  Arab  would  permit  a  further  increase  and 
improvement  to  be  made  of  the  vine,  &c." 

BISHOP  WATSON. 

The  first  volume  of  Gibbon's  "Decline  and  Fall"  was  pub- 
lished in  1776.  It  contained  the  two  famous  chapters  which 
sought  to  account  for  the  rise  and  spread  of  Christianity 
through  causes  purely  natural.  These  drew  forth  numerous 
replies,  some  of  them  distinguished  by  great  erudition,  and 
others  by  great  ability.  But  probably  the  most  popular  and 
useful  was,  "An  Apology  for  Christianity,"  by  Dr  Richard 
Watson,  then  Regius  Professor  of  Divinity  at  Cambridge, 
afterwards  Bishop  of  Llandaff.^'  It  ai3peared  in  the  form  of 
letters  addressed  to  the  historian,  and  one  of  these  given  entire 
will  illustrate  the  brief  and  effective  style  of  the  series. 

5rje  TJixium  of  tje  Jirst  ^fjristfans. 

Sir, — I  readily  acknowledge  the  utility  of  your  fourth  cause 
"  The  Virtues  of  the  First  Christians,"  as  greatly  conducing  to 
the  spreading  their  religion ;  but  then  you  seem  to  quite  mar 
the  compliment  you  pay  them,  by  representing  their  virtues  as 
proceeding  either  from  their  repentance  for  having  been  the 
most  abandoned  sinners,  or  from  the  laudable  desire  of  sup- 
porting the  reputation  of  the  society  in  which  they  were 
engaged. 

That  repentance  is  the  first  step  to  virtue,  is  true  enough ; 

but  I  see  no  reason  for  supposing,  according  to  the  calumnies 

of  Celsus  and  Julian,  "  that  the  Christians  allured  into  their 

party,  men  who  washed  away  in  the  waters  of  baptism  the 

*  Born  at  Iloversham,  Westmoreland,  1737  ;  died  July  4,  1816. 


BISHOP  WATSON.  49 

guilt  for  ^Yllicll  tlie  temples  of  tlie  gods  refused  to  grant  tliem 
any  exiDiation."  The  Apostles,  sir,  did  not,  like  Piomulus, 
open  an  asylum  for  debtors,  thieves,  and  murderers ;  for  they 
had  not  the  same  sturdy  means  of  securing  their  adherents 
from  the  grasp  of  civil  power  :  they  did  not  persuade  them  to 
abandon  the .  temples  of  the  gods,  because  they  could  there 
obtain  no  expiation  for  their  guilt,  but  because  every  degree 
of  guilt  was  expiated  in  them  with  too  great  facility,  and 
every  vice  practised,  not  only  without  remorse  of  private  con- 
science, but  with  the  powerful  sanction  of  public  ai^probation. 
"  After  the  example,"  you  say,  "  of  their  Divine  Master,  the 
missionaries  of  the  gospel  addressed  themselves  to  men,  and 
especially  to  women,  oppressed  by  the  consciousness,  and  very 
often  by  the  effects  of  their  vices." — This,  sir,  I  really  think, 
is  not  a  fair  representation  of  the  matter ;  it  may  catch  the 
applause  of  the  unlearned,  embolden  many  a  stripling  to  cast  off 
for  ever  the  sweet  blush  of  modesty,  confirm  many  a  dissolute 
veteran  in  the  practice  of  his  impure  habits,  and  suggest  great 
occasion  of  merriment  and  wanton  mockery  to  the  flagitious 
of  every  denomination  and  every  age ;  but  still  it  will  want 
that  foundation  of  truth  which  alone  can  recommend  it  to  the 
serious  and  judicious.  The  Apostles,  sir,  were  not  like  the 
Italian  Fratricelli  of  the  thirteenth,  nor  the  French  Turlupins 
of  the  fourteenth  century ;  in  all  the  dirt  that  has  been  raked 
up  against  Christianity,  even  by  the  worst  of  its  enemies,  not  a 
speck  of  that  kind  have  they  been  able  to  fix,  either  upon  the 
Apostles,  or  their  Divine  Master.  The  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ, 
sir,  was  not  preached  in  single  houses  or  obscure  villages,  not 
in  subterranean  caves  and  impure  brothels,  not  in  lazars  and 
in  prisons ;  but  in  the  synagogues  and  in  the  temples,  in  the 
streets  and  in  the  market-places,  of  the  great  capitals  of  the 
Roman  provinces ;  in  Jerusalem,  in  Corinth,  and  in  Antioch, 
in  Athens,  in  Ephesus,  and  in  Eome.  Nor  do  I  anywhere 
find  that  its  missionaries  were  ordered  particularly  to  address 

VOL.  IV.  E 


50  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

themselves  to  tlie  shameless  women  yon  mention;  I  do,  in- 
deed, find  the  direct  contrary ;  for  they  ^Yere  ordered  to  turn 
away  from,  to  have  no  fellowship  or  intercourse  with  such  as 
were  wont  to  creep  into  houses,  and  lead  captive  silly  women 
laden  with  sins,  led  away  mth  divers  lusts.  And  what,  if  a 
few  women,  who  had  either  been  seduced  by  their  passions,  or 
had  fallen  victims  to  the  licentious  manners  of  their  age,  should 
be  found  amongst  those  who  were  most  ready  to  receive  a 
religion  that  forbade  all  impurity  ?  I  do  not  apprehend  that 
this  circumstance  ought  to  bring  an  insinuation  of  discredit, 
either  upon  the  sex,  or  upon  those  who  wrought  their  reformation. 
That  the  majority  of  the  first  converts  to  Christianity  were 
of  an  inferior  condition  of  life,  may  readily  be  allowed ;  and 
you  yourself  have  in  another  place  given  a  good  reason  for  it ; 
those  who  are  distinguished  by  riches,  honours,  or  knowledge, 
being  so  very  inconsiderable  in  number,  when  compared  with 
the  bulk  of  mankind  :  but  though  not  many  mighty,  not  many 
noble  were  called,  yet  some  mighty  and  some  noble,  some  of 
as  great  reputation  as  any  of  the  age  in  which  they  lived,  were 
attached  to  the  Christian  faith.  Shprt,  indeed,  are  the  accounts 
which  have  been  transmitted  to  us  of  the  first  propagation 
of  Christianity ;  yet  even  in  these  we  meet  with  the  names 
of  many  who  would  have  done  credit  to  any  cause  :  I  will  not 
pretend  to  enumerate  them  all;  a  few  of  them  will  be  sufiicient 
to  make  you  recollect  that  there  were  at  least  some  converts 
to  Christianity,  both  from  among  the  Jews  and  the  Gentiles, 
whose  lives  were  not  stained  with  inexpiable  crimes.  Amongst 
these  we  reckon  Nicodemus,  a  ruler  of  the  Jews ;  Joseph  of 
Arimathea,  a  man  of  fortune  and  a  counsellor ;  a  nobleman  and 
a  centurion  of  Capernaum ;  Jairus,  Crispus,  fSosthenes,  rulers 
of  synagogues ;  Apollos,  an  eloquent  and  learned  man  ;  Zenas, 
a  Jewish  lawyer ;  the  treasurer  of  Candace  queen  of  Ethiopia ; 
Cornelius,  a  centurion  of  the  Italian  band ;  Dionysius,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Areopag-us  at  Athens;  and  Sergius  Paulus,  a  man 


CHRISTIAN  MOEALITY.  51 

of  proconsular  or  praetorian  authority,  of  wliom  it  may  be 
remarked,  that  if  he  resigned  his  high  and  lucrative  office  in 
consequence  of  his  turning  Christian,  it  is  a  strong  presump- 
tion in  its  favour ;  if  he  retained  it,  we  may  conclude  that  the 
profession  of  Christianity  was  not  so  utterly  incompatible  with 
the  discharge  of  the  offices  of  civil  life  as  you  sometimes  re- 
present it.  This  catalogue  of  men  of  rank,  fortune,  and  know- 
ledge, who  embraced  Christianity,  might,  was  it  necessary,  be 
much  enlarged ;  and  probably  another  conversation  with  St  Paul 
would  have  enabled  us  to  grace  it  with  the  names  of  Festus 
and  king  Agrippa  himself :  not  that  the  writers  of  the  books 
of  the  N"ew  Testament  seem  to  have  been  at  all  solicitous  in 
mentioning  the  great  or  the  learned  who  were  converted  to  the 
faitli ;  had  that  been  part  of  their  design,  they  would,  in  the 
true  style  of  impostors,  have  kept  out  of  sight  the  publicans 
and  sinners,  the  tanners  and  the  tentmakers,  with  whom  they 
conversed  and  dwelt,  and  introduced  to  our  notice  none  but 
those  who  had  been  brought  up  with  Herod  or  the  chief  men 
of  Asia,  whom  they  had  the  honour  to  number  amongst  their 
friends. 

That  the  primitive  Christians  took  great  care  to  have  an 
unsullied  reputation,  by  abstaining  from  the  commission  of 
whatever  might  tend  to  pollute  it,  is  easily  admitted ;  but  we 
do  not  so  easily  grant  that  this  care  is  a  "  circumstance  which 
usually  attends  small  assemblies  of  men,  when  they  separate 
themselves  from  the  body  of  a  nation  or  the  religion  to  which 
they  belonged."  It  did  not  attend  the  Mcolaitanes,  the  Simo- 
nians,  the  Menandrians,  and  the  Carpocratians,  in  the  first  ages 
of  the  Church,  of  which  we  are  speaking :  and  it  cannot  be 
unknown  to  you,  sir,  that  the  scandalous  vices  of  these  very 
early  sectaries  brought  a  general  and  undistinguished  censure 
upon  the  Christian  name ;  and,  so  far  from  promoting  the 
increase  of  the  Church,  excited  in  the  minds  of  the  Pagans  an 
abhorrence  of  whatever  respected  it :  it  cannot  be  unknown  to 


52-  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUKY. 

you,  sir,  that  several  sectaries,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  might 
be  mentioned  who  have  departed  from  the  religion  to  which 
they  belonged,  and  which,  unhappily  for  themselves  and  the 
community,  have  taken  as  little  care  to  preserve  their  reputa- 
tion unspotted 'as  those  of  the  first  and  second  centuries.  If, 
then,  the  first  Christians  did  take  the  care  you  mention  (and  I 
am  wholly  of  your  opinion  in  that  point),  their  solicitude  might 
as  candidly  perhaps,  and  as  reasonably,  be  derived  from  a  sense 
of  their  duty  and  an  honest  endeavour  to  discharge  it,  as  from 
the  mere  desire  of  increasing  the  honour  of  their  confraternity 
by  the  illustrious  integrity  of  its  members. 

You  are  eloquent  in  describing  the  austere  morality  of  the 
primitive  Christians,  as  adverse  to  the  propensities  of  sense, 
and  abhorrent  from  all  tlie  innocent  pleasures  and  amusements 
of  life ;  and  you  enlarge,  with  a  studied  minuteness,  upon  theu' 
censures  of  luxury,  and  their  sentiments  concerning  marriage 
and  chastity ;  but  in  this  circumstantial  enumeration  of  their 
errors  or  their  faults  (which  I  am  under  no  necessity  of  deny- 
ing or  excusing),  you  seem  to  forget  the  very  purpose  for  which 
you  profess  to  have  introduced  the  mention  of  them  j  for  the 
picture  you  have  drawn  is  so  hideous,  and  the  colouring  so 
dismal,  that  instead  of  alluring  to  a  closer  inspection,  it  must 
have  made  every  man  of  pleasure  or  of  sense  turn  from  it  with 
horror  or  disgust;  and  so  far  from  contributing  to  the  rapid 
growth  of  Christianity  by  the  austerity  of  their  manners,  it 
must  be  a  wonder  to  any  one  how  the  first  Christians  ever 
made  a  single  convert.  It  was  first  objected  by  Celsus,  that 
Christianity  was  a  mean  religion,  inculcating  such  a  pusilla- 
nimity and  patience  under  affronts,  such  a  contempt  of  riches 
and  worldly  honours,  as  must  weaken  the  nerves  of  civil 
government,  and  expose  a  society  of  Christians  to  the  prey  of 
the  first  invaders.  This  objection  has  been  repeated  by  Bayle  ; 
and  though  fully  answered  by  Bernard  and  others,  it  is  still 
the  favourite  theme  of  every  esprit  fort  of  our  own  age.     Even 


CHRISTIANITY  NOT  POLITICAL  BUT  ETHICAL.  53 

you,  sir,  think  the  aversion  of  Christians  to  the  business  of  war 
and  government  "  a  criminal  disregard  to  the  public  welfare.'' 
To  aU  that  has  been  said  upon  this  subject,  it  may  with  justice, 
I  think,  be  answered,  that  Christianity  troubles  not  itself  with 
ordering  the  constitution  of  civil  societies,  but  levels  the  weight 
of  all  its  influence  at  the  hearts  of  the  individuals  which  com- 
pose them ;  and,  as  Origen  said  to  Celsus,  was  every  individual 
in  every  nation  a  gospel  Christian,  there  would  be  neither  in- 
ternal injustice  nor  external  war ;  there  would  be  none  of  those 
passions  which  imbitter  the  intercourses  of  civil  life,  and  deso- 
late the  globe.  AVhat  reproach,  then,  can  it  be  to  a  religion, 
that  it  inculcates  doctrines  which,  if  universally  practised, 
would  introduce  universal  tranquillity,  and  the  most  exalted 
happiness  amongst  mankind  ? 

It  must  proceed  from  a  total  misapprehension  of  the  design 
of  the  Christian  dispensation,  or  from  a  very  ignorant  interpre- 
tation of  the  particular  injunctions,  forbidding  us  to  make 
riches  or  honours  a  primary  pursuit,  or  the  prompt  gratification 
of  revenge  a  first  principle  of  action,  to  infer  that  an  individual 
Christian  is  obliged  by  his  religion  to  offer  his  throat  to  an 
assassin  and  his  property  to  the  first  plunderer,  or  that  a 
society  of  Christians  may  not  repel,  in  the  best  manner  they 
are  able,  the  unjust  assaults  of  hostile  invasion. 

I  know  of  no  precepts  in  the  gospel  which  debar  a  man 
from  the  possession  of  domestic  comforts,  or  deaden  the  acti- 
vity of  his  private  friendships,  or  prohibit  the  exertion  of  his 
utmost  ability  in  the  service  of  the  public ;  the  7iisi  quietum 
nihil  heatum  is  no  part  of  the  Christian's  creed  :  his  virtue  is 
an  active  virtue ;  and  we  justly  refer  to  the  school  of  Epicurus 
the  doctrines  concernmg  abstinence  from  marriage,  from  the 
cultivation  of  friendship,  from  the  management  of  public  affairs, 
as  suited  to  that  selfish  indolence  which  was  the  favourite 
tenet  of  his  philosophy. — I  am,  &c. 


e2 


54  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY. 

BISHOP  HOENE. 

Of  tliis  excellent  prelate  we  may  have  occasion  to  speak 
hereafter.  His  name  is  here  introduced  as  the  author  of 
anonymous  "  Letters  on  Infidelity,"  1784,  which  are  probably 
the  most  amusing  of  the  many  productions  called  forth  by  the 
strange  speculations  of  David  Hume.  ^lany  of  the  readers  of 
"  The  Commentary  on  the  Psalms  "  will  hardly  be  aware  of  the 
wit  and  humour  which  lurked  in  the  mind  of  the  devout  and 
amiable  author.  Perhaps  our  extract  would  have  been  more 
appropriate  in  the  earlier  division  of  our  subject. 

^  Sialcrjuc  m  Ij^l^iUm^ijml  Scepticism. 

I  am  truly  concerned,  dear  sir,  to  hear  that  your  old  consti- 
tutional complaint,  a  depression  of  sjDirits,  has  of  late  been 
more  than  usually  troublesome,  and  wish  I  may  succeed  in  the 
medicine  I  am  going  to  administer,  if  not  for  the  removal,  at 
least  for  a  temporary  alleviation  of  it. 

The  famous  Dr  Padcliffe  Avas  once  called  in  to  a  person 
almost  suffocated  by  an  unposthumated  swelling  in  the  throat. 
The  case  requii-ed  immediate  relief,  and  the  doctor  sent  his 
servant  into  the  kitchen  to  order  and  bring  up  a  large  hasty- 
pudding.  Upon  its  arrival,  falling  into  a  violent  passion 
because  it  was  not  made  to  his  mind,  he  flung  an  handful  of  it 
in  the  fellow's  face,  who  returned  the  compliment,  and  an 
engagement  ensued  between  them  till  the  ammunition  was  all 
si)ent.  The  sick  man,  who  had  been  raised  in  his  bed  to  see 
the  battle,  was  forced  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter ;  the  im- 
posthume  broke,  and  the  patient  recovered. 

In  the  present  case,  the  philosophy  contained  in  Mr  H 's 

posthumous  work  styled,  "Dialogues  on  Natural  Religion," 
shall  be  our  hasty-pudding ;  and  I  will  introduce  a  couple  of 
gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance  to  toss  a  little  of  it  backwards 


A  DIALOGUE.  55 

and  forwards  for  your  entertainment.     ^lay  the  effect  prove 
ecjually  salutary  ! 

A  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  THOMAS  AND  TIMOTHY  ON 
PHILOSOPHICAL  SCEPTICISM. 

Tim.  Whither  away  so  fast,  man  ?  Where  art  going  this 
morning  ? 

Tom.  I  am  going  to  be  made  a  Christian. 

Tim.  The  very  last  thing  I  should  have  dreamed  of.  But, 
pray,  who  is  to  make  you  one  1 

Tom.  David  Hume. 

Tim.  Da\4d  Hume  ?     Why,  I  thought  he  was  an  Atheist. 

Tom.  The  world  never  was  more  mistaken  about  any  one 
man  than  about  David  Hume.  He  was  deemed  a  sworn  foe 
to  Christianity,  whereas  his  whole  life  was  spent  in  its  service. 
His  works  compose  altogether  a  complete  Prajparatio  Evan- 
gelica.  They  lead  men  gently  and  gradually,  as  it  were,  to  the 
gospel. 

Tim.  As  how,  Tom  ?     Be  pleased  to  take  me  along  with  you. 

Tom.  Why  look  you,  here  is  chapter  and  verse  for  you. 
"  Dialogues  concerning  Natural  Religion,"  p.  263,  "  To  be  a 
philosophical  sceptic  is,  in  a  man  of  letters,  the  first  and  most 
essential  step  towards  being  a  sound,  believing  Christian." 

Tim.  When  David  was  at  Paris,  I  have  heard,  the  wits 
there  should  say,  he  was  a  very  worthy  gentleman,  but  had 
his  religious  prejudices  like  other  people.  As  folks  are  quick- 
scented  in  that  country,  perhaps  they  smelled  a  rat.  Indeed, 
in  a  "  Supplement  to  the  Life  of  Mr  H.,"  we  are  told  that  a 
brother  of  his  used  to  observe  of  him,  "  My  brother  Davie  is  a 
good  enough  sort  of  a  man,  but  rather  narrow-minded."  Well, 
I  cannot  tell  what  to  say  to  it ;  there  are  abundance  of  pretty 
fancies  stirring.  I  suppose  there  may  be  different  ways  of 
becoming  a  Christian.  A  man  of  letters  enters,  belike,  at  the 
back  door,  and  so  goes  round  the  house  to  come  at  it ;  a  com- 


56  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

pass  wliich  we  plain  folk  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  take. 
One  thing  is  certain,  that  if  scepticism  be  the  road  to  Chris- 
tianity, Mr  H.  is  a  very  proper  person  to  keep  the  turnpike 
gate  upon  it.  But  what  progress  must  one  make,  if  one  had 
a  mind  to  try  the  experiment,  in  this  same  philosophical  scep- 
ticism, before  one  could  become  a  good,  sound,  believing  Chris- 
tian ?     Must  one  doubt  of  everything  1 

Tom.  Of  everything,  in  this  world  and  that  which  is  to 
come,  as  I  myself  do  at  this  present  speaking.  It  is  the  most 
agreeable  process  in  life ;  a  charming,  delightful  suspense  of 
judgment.  I  doubt  whether  there  be  any  such  thing  as 
matter ;  I  doubt  likewise  whether  there  be  any  such  thing  as 
spirit  j  that  is,  I  doubt  whether  there  be  creature  or  Creator, 
and  whether  I  myself  am  anything  more  than  a  bundle  of  per- 
ceptions, without  either  body  or  soul.  We  modern  philoso- 
phers, you  must  know,  consider  matter  and  spirit  as  so  much 
lumber  wliich  should  be  cleared  out  of  the  way.  There  would 
then  be  a  noble  field  open  for  speculation,  and  we  might  all 
set  out  afresh.  I  doubt  whether  the  world  (supposing  for  a 
moment  that  there  be  one)  did  not  exist  from  eternity,  or 
whether  it  did  not  make  itself;  whether  it  be  not  a  huge 
animal,  somewhat  like  an  ostrich,  which  lays  now  and  then  an 
egg  to  be  hatched  into  a  young  world;  or  whether  it  be  not  an 
overgrown  vegetable  run  to  seed.  "  As  a  tree  sheds  its  seed 
into  the  neighbouring  fields  and  produces  other  trees,  so  the 
great  vegetable  the  world,  or  this  planetary  system,  produces 
perhaps  within  itself  certain  seeds,  which,  being  scattered  into 
the  surrounding  chaos,  vegetate  into  new  worlds.  A  comet, 
for  instance,  is  the  seed  of  a  world ;  and  after  it  has  been  fully 
ripened,  by  passing  from  sun  to  sun  and  star  to  star,  is  at  last 
tossed  into  the  unformed  elements  which  everywhere  surround 
this  universe,  and  immediately  sprouts  wp  into  a  new  system." 

Tim.  Vastly  ingenious!  and  really,  upon  the  whole,  not 
improbable ! — But  prithee,  Tom,  if  you  are  not  in  too  great  a 


PHILOSOPHICAL  SCEPTICISM.  57 

lurry  to  be  made  a  Cliristian,  do  stop  for  lialf-an-lionr,  and 
nstruct  me  a  little  further  in  this  New  Week's  Preparation  of 
VIr  H.  For  the  specimen  you  have  given  me  is  so  exquisite, 
hat  it  perfectly  makes  my  mouth  to  water  for  more.  What  is 
he  plan  of  these  famous  Dialogues  concerning  Natural  ReUgion  1 

Tom.  You  shall  have  it  in  few  words. — Once  upon  a  time, 
hen,  there  was  a  promising  young  man,  whose  name  was 
^'amphilus.  He  was  brought  up  by  a  philosopher  called 
^leanthes.  Philo,  a  brother  philosopher,  came  to  spend  some 
lays  with  Cleanthes.  The  dialogues  are  supposed  to  contain 
he  substance  of  a  conversation  which  passed  between  these 
)ersonages,  by  way,  among  other  things,  of  preparing  young 
^amphilus,  in  a  proper  manner,  for  the  reception  of  the  Gospel, 
)y  first  making  him  a  thorough  sceptic.  Pamphilus,  who,  as 
I  hearer  only,  was  to  learn  and  be  wise,  relates  this  conversa- 
ion  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Hermippus.  There  is  a  third 
;peaker  in  the  dialogues,  styled  Demea,  one  of  your  old- 
'ashioned  orthodox  gentry,  who  firmly  believes  the  existence 
)f  a  Deity,  and  is  rather  disposed  to  speak  well  than  ill  of 
lis  ^laker.  But  the  two  philosophers  so  astonish  and  dis- 
compose him,  draw  him  into  so  many  ambuscades,  and  raise  so 
;hick  a  metaphysical  dust  around  him,  that  at  the  close  of  the 
eleventh  dialogue,  the  old  gentleman  is  glad  to  take  a  French 
eave,  and  vanishes  so  very  suddenly,  that  Avhether  he  went 
nit  at  the  door,  or  the  window,  or  up  the  chimney,  nobody 
mows  to  this  hour.  It  would  do  your  heart  good  to  see  the 
\in  they  make  with  him. 

Tim.  Before  you  go  any  further,  let  me  just  ask  you  one 
question.  Pray  do  you  act  upon  this  principle  of  philosophi- 
cal scepticism  in  common  life? 

Tom.  Oh,  by  no  means.  If  we  did,  we  should  walk  into  a 
tiorse-pond,  or  run  our  heads  against  a  wall,  and  the  boys 
^vould  laugh  at  us.  No,  no,  "  to  whatever  length  any  one 
may  push  his  speculative  prhici]_)lcs  of  scepticism,  he  must  act, 


OiS  THK  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

and  live,  and  converse  like  other  men;  and  for  tliis  conduct 
lie  is  not  obliged  to  give  any  other  reason,  than  the  absolute 
necessity  he  lies  under  of  so  doing." 

Tim.  I  think  it  would  be  hard  upon  hiin  if  he  were  obliged 
to  give  any  other  reason;  for  absolute  necessit//  is  an  exceeding 
good  one.  But  what,  then,  is  it  you  are  all  about,  spending 
your  pains  in  constructing  a  system,  which  you  are  necessitated 
to  contradict  and  protest  against,  every  time  you  go  down  a  lad- 
der, or  get  over  a  stile.  Surely  you  ought  to  be  set  in  a  corner, 
with  fools'  caps  upon  your  heads,  like  the  misses  at  a  boarding- 
school.     In  the  name  of  common  sense,  what  can  you  mean  1 

Tom.  It  is  an  amusement — "  If  a  person  carries  his  specula- 
tions further  than  this  necessity  constrains  him,  and  philoso- 
phises either  on  natural  or  moral  subjects,  he  is  allured  by  a 
certain  pleasure  and  satisfaction  which  he  finds  in  employing 
himself  after  that  manner." 

Tim.  Suppose  he  were  to  play  at  push-pin,  or  span-farthing, 
would  it  not  be  more  to  the  purpose?  And  then  he  would 
not  disturb  his  neighbours.  But  that  man's  heart  must  be  as 
wrong  as  his  head,  who  can  "  find  a  certain  pleasure  and  satis- 
faction" in  endeavouring  to  persuade  his  fellow-rationals  that 
they  are  without  God  in  the  world.  However,  if  amusement 
be  the  word,  let  us  believers  have  some  too.  If  philosophers 
will  amuse  themselves  with  talking  nonsense,  they  must  give 
us  leave  to  amuse  ourselves  by  laughing  at  it.  On  our  side  of 
the  question  it  is  possible  to  be  merry  and  ivise,  as  well  as  to 
do  some  little  service  to  the  world,  by  shewing  it  what  stuff 
these  dreams  are  made  of.  Come,  Tom,  you  shall  represent 
the  genius  of  philosophical  scepticism.  And  now  let  us  hear 
some  of  those  strong  reasons  which  mduce  you  to  deny  the 
existence  of  a  Deity. 

Tom.  Bless  us  !  you  shock  me !  I  do  not  mean  to  deny  the 
being,  but  only  to  philosopliise  a  little  concerning  the  nature 
of  God. 


THE  SELF-BUILT  HOUSE.  50 

Tim.  Well,  then,  be  it  so.     Pliilosophise  away. 

Tom.  Our  reason,  Tim,  is  very  weak — very  weak,  indeed ; 
we  are  poor,  finite,  frail,  blind  creatures.  Our  knowledge  of 
the  things  around  us  is  extremely  limited  and  imperfect — we 
ought  to  humble  ourselves 

TiM.  There  is  always  mischief  in  the  wind,  when  a  philoso- 
pher falleth  down  and  humhleth  liimself.  But  what  is  your 
inference  from  all  these  lowly  considerations  ? 

ToM.  That  it  is  presumption  in  such  worms  of  the  dust  to 
aro'ue  about  the  nature  and  attributes  of  God. 

Tim.  But  you  will  allow  poor  reason  to  exercise  herself  in 
her  own  province,  and  when  she  is  furnished  with  premises,  to 
draw  a  conclusion  % 

Tom.  Ay,  ay,  there  is  no  harm  in  that. 

Tim.  When  we  see  a  house  calculated  to  answer  various 
purposes  of  beauty  and  convenience,  and  having  in  it  all  the 
marks  of  wisdom  and  design,  we  know  it  could  not  build  itself. 
The  senseless  materials  could  never  have  prepared  and  arranged 
themselves  in  such  order.  The  timber  could  not  dance,  cut 
and  squared,  out  of  the  forest,  nor  the  marble  meet  it,  hewn 
and  polished,  from  the  quarry.  The  house,  therefore,  must 
have  had  a  builder.  We  apply  the  same  argument,  afoHiori, 
to  the  case  of  the  world,  and  its  Maker,  Godj  and  Tully,  if  I 
remember  right,  makes  no  scruple  to  assert,  that  he  who 
denies  his  assent  to  it  does  not  deserve  the  name  of  a  man. 
This  is  the  argument  called  a  posteriori,  and  lies  open  to  the 
common  sense  of  all  mankind.  Now,  then,  let  us  try  the  sin- 
cerity of  that  declaration  of  yours,  that  "  the  question  is  not 
concerning  the  being,  but  the  nature  of  God."  For  if  you 
controvert  this  argument,  you  certainly  mean  to  shake  our 
beKef  in  the  existence  of  a  Deity.  You  must  of  course  attempt 
to  shew,  that  the  world  might  have  been  as  it  is  without  one ; 
and  if  that  be  the  case,  you  will  next  defy  us  to  prove  that 
there  is  one. 


xxitj  jiiUjtxixriCiiN  xri  L/ jiixx  x  u  j.c  x  . 


Tom.  Fiai  justitia,  mat  ccelum.  I  mnst  stick  to  tmtli,  let 
what  will  come  of  it.  I  am  not  bound  to  answer  for  conse- 
quences. I  must  own  I  look  upon  tlie  argument  to  be  incon- 
clusive. 

Tim.  All  very  well ;  but  why  could  not  you  say  so  at  first  ? 
What  occasion  to  be  mealy-mouthed,  in  an  age  like  this  ?  Now 
matters  are  in  a  train,  and  we  can  proceed  regularly.  What  is 
your  objection  to  the  argument  ?     Wherein  does  it  fail  1 

Tom.  It  will  fail,  d'ye  see,  if  there  be  not  an  exact  similarity 
in  the  cases.  You  will  not  say  that  there  is  an  exact  simili- 
tude between  the  universe  and  a  house,  or  between  God  and 
man? 

Tim.  ^^^ly  really,  Tom,  I  never  imagined  the  world  had  a 
door  and  a  chimney,  like  a  house  ;  or  that  God  had  hands  and 
feet,  like  a  man.  Nor  is  it  at  all  necessary  that  it  should  be 
so,  for  the  strength  and  validity  of  the  argument,  which  is 
plainly  and  simply  this — If  stones  and  trees  have  not  thought 
and  design  to  form  themselves  into  a  house,  there  must  have 
been  some  one,  who  had  thought  and  design,  to  do  it  for 
them ;  and  so,  as  I  said  before,  a  fortiori,  mth  respect  to  the 
universe,  where  the  thought  and  design  appear  infinitely  supe- 
rior to  those  required  in  building  a  house.  We  have  no  occa- 
sion to  suppose  a  resemblance  of  the  universe  to  a  house,  or  of 
God  to  man,  in  every  particular. 

Tom.  "  But  why  select  so  minute,  so  weak,  so  bounded  a 
principle,  as  the  reason  and  design  of  animals  is  found  to  be 
upon  this  planet  1  What  peculiar  privilege  has  this  little 
agitation  of  the  brain,  which  we  call  thought,  that  we  must 
thus  make  it  the  model  of  the  whole  universe  ?  Our  partiality 
in  our  own  ftivour  does  indeed  present  it  upon  all  occasions  ; 
but  sound  philosophy  ought  carefully  to  guard  against  so 
natural  an  illusion." 

Tim.  It  is  not  "  our  partiality  in  our  own  favour  that  pre- 
sents it  to  us  upon  all  occasions,"  but  the  necessity  of  the  case. 


MEANS  TO  AN  END.  61 

There  is  no  other  way  of  speaking  upon  the  subject  so  as  to 
be  understood.  Knowledge  in  God  and  man,  however  differ- 
ent in  degree,  or  attained  in  a  different  manner,  is  the  same  in 
kind,  and  produces  the  same  effects,  so  iar  as  relates  to  our 
present  purpose.  The  knowledge  of  God  is  intuitive  and  per- 
fect ;  that  of  man  is  by  deduction,  and  is  therefore  imperfect, 
either  when  his  premises  are  false,  or  when  passion  and  preju- 
dice enter  into  his  conclusion.  But  wisdom,  which  consists  in 
fixing  upon  proper  ends,  and  fitly  proportioning  means  to  those 
ends,  is  wisdom,  in  whatsoever  object,  mode,  or  degree  it  may 
exist;  and  there  is  therefore  no  illusion  in  saying,  "Every 
house  is  builded  by  some  man,  but  he  that  built  all  things  is 
God."  You  speak  of  thought,  reason,  or  design  as  "a  little 
agitation  of  the  brain,"  as  if  you  imagined  that  "  Paradise  Lost," 
or  the  "Advancement  of  Learning,"  might  at  any  time  be  pro- 
duced by  simmering  a  man's  brains  over  the  fire.  Certainly 
an  author  cannot  compose  without  brains,  heart,  liver,  and 
lungs;  but  I  am  of  opinion  something  more  than  all  four 
must  have  gone  to  the  composition  even  of  the  "Dialogues 
concerning  Natural  Religion."  "  Minute,  weak,  and  bounded  as 
this  principle  of  reason  and  design  is  found  to  be  in  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  planet,"  it  can  form  and  frustrate  mighty  schemes; 
it  can  raise  and  subvert  empires;  it  can  invent  and  bring  to 
perfection  a  variety  of  arts  and  sciences;  and  in  the  hands  of 
some  very  worthy  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance,  it  can  set 
itself  up  against  all  that  is  called  God,  and  revile  the  works  of 
the  Almighty  through  364  pages  together. 

Tom.  I  cannot  but  still  think,  there  is  something  of  par- 
tiality and  self-love  in  the  business.  "  Suppose  there  were  a 
planet  wholly  inhabited  by  spiders  (which  is  very  possible); 
they  would  probably  assert,  with  the  Brahmins,  that  the  world 
arose  from  an  infinite  spider,  who  spun  this  whole  complicated 
mass  from  his  bowels,  and  annihilates  afterwards  the  whole,  or 
any  part  of  it,  by  absorbing  it  again,  and  resolving  it  into  his 

VOL.  IV.  F 


62  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

own  essence.  Tliis  inference  would  there  appear  as  natural 
and  iiTefragable  as  that  w^hich  in  our  planet  ascribes  the  origin 
of  all  things  to  design  and  intelligence.  To  us,  indeed,  it  ap- 
pears ridiculous,  because  a  spider  is  a  little  contemptible  ani- 
mal, whose  operations  we  are  never  likely  to  take  for  a  model 
of  the  whole  universe." 

Tim.  Possibly  not ;  but  I  should  take  that  "  little  contemp- 
tible animal"  for  an  exact  model  of  a  sceptical  philosopher — 

"It  spins  a  flimsy  web,  its  slender  store, 
And  labours  till  it  clouds  itself  all  o'er." 

And  were  there  a  planet  wholly  inhabited  by  these  same 
philosophers,  I  doubt  not  of  their  spinning  a  cosmogony 
worthy  an  academy  of  spiders — and  so,  Tom,  the  voluntary 
humility  which  discovered  itself  at  your  setting  out,  ends  at 
last  in  degrading  man  to  a  spider;  and  reason  is  either  exalted 
to  the  stars,  or  depressed  to  the  earth,  as  best  serves  the  cause 
of  infidelity.  In  this  particular,  however,  you  are  at  least  as 
bad  as  the  parsons.  But  let  us  proceed.  What  have  you 
more  to  say  against  the  argument  of  the  house  ? 

Tom.  I  say,  that  arguments  concerning  facts  are  founded 
on  experience.  I  have  seen  one  house  planned  and  erected  by 
an  architect,  and,  therefore,  I  conclude  the  same  with  regard 
to  others.  But,  "  will  any  man  tell  me,  with  a  serious  coun- 
tenance, that  an  orderly  universe  must  arise  from  some  thought 
and  art  like  the  human,  because  we  have  experience  of  it  ? 
To  ascertain  this  reasoning,  it  were  rec[uisite  that  we  had 
exjDerience  of  the  origin  of  worlds." 

Tim.  Truly  I  know  not  how  that  can  well  be ;  for  worlds 
are  not  made  eveiy  day.  I  have  heard  of  the  production  of 
none  since  our  own,  and  man  could  not  see  that  made,  because 
he  himself  was  made  after  it ;  and  he  could  not  exist  before 
he  was  made.  The  contrary  supposition  was,  indeed,  once 
ventured  on  by  the  master  of  a  Dutch  puppet-show.  Whether 
he  were  a  metaphysician,  I  never  heard.     In  the  beginning  of 


BOAME  JENYNS:  63 

this  ingenious  drama,  ]Mr  Punch,  posting  over  the  stage  in  a 
very  large  pair  of  jack-boots,  and  being  asked,  whither  he  was 
going  at  so  early  an  hour,  replies  I  am  going  to  be  created. 
His  evidence,  if  you  can  procure  it,  is  very  much  at  the  ser- 
vice of  scepticism,  and  may  go  near  to  determine  the  matter. 
In  the  meantime,  I  shall  presume  my  argument  to  be  still 
good,  that  if  a  house  must  be  built  by  thought  and  design,  a 
world  cannot  have  been  built  without;  though  I  have  seen 
the  one,  and  never  was  so  fortunate  as  to  see  the  other.  Let 
me  add  further,  that  if  in  the  general  contrivance  and  con- 
struction of  the  world  there  be  evident  demonstration  of  con- 
summate wisdom,  that  demonstration  cannot  be  set  aside  by 
seeming  or  real  inconveniences  in  some  parts,  which,  for  good 
reasons,  were  either  originally  designed,  or  may  have  been 
since  introduced,  for  the  trial  or  punishment  of  its  inhabitants, 
or  for  other  purposes,  unknown  to  us.  This  is  the  plam  con- 
clusion formed  by  common  sense,  and  surely  ten  times  more 
rational  than  to  talk  of  eggs,  and  seecfs,  and  spiders,  and  the 
necessity  of  seeing  the  world  made,  in  order  to  know  that  it 
had  a  maker. 

SOAME  JENYNS. 

From  many  of  the  best  arguments,  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
tach characteristic  extracts.  A  work  like  Gilbert  West  on 
"  The  Eesurrection  of  Christ,"  Lord  Lyttelton's  "  Conversion 
of  St  Paul,"  or  "  The  Trial  of  the  Witnesses,"  needs  to  be 
read  continuously;  and  in  the  bulky  tomes  of  Lardner  and 
Leland  w^e  can  find  no  specimen  sujSiciently  miimte  for  our 
little  cabinet.  We,  therefore,  conclude  our  examples  with  a 
few  pages  from  the  work  of  a  layman  who,  like  West  and 
Lyttelton,  was  all  the  firmer  in  his  ftiith,  because  the  doubts 
of  early  years  had  constrained  him  to  examine  its  foundations 
carefully. 

SoAME  Jenyns  was  born  at  Great  Ormond  Street,  London, 


64  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

in  1704;  mid  died  in  Tilney  Street,  December  13,  1787. 
During  most  of  liis  life  he  represented  in  Parliament  the  town 
or  the  county  of  Cambridge.  His  "View  of  the  Internal 
E\-idence  of  the  Christian  Keligion"  is  somewhat  impaired  for 
practical  purposes,  by  its  paradoxical  assertion  that  valour, 
patriotism,  and  friendship,  are  not  Christian  virtues ;  but  pas- 
sages like  the  following  contain  the  germ  of  an  argument 
which  is  capable  of  indefinite  development,  and  the  force  of 
which  can  never  be  exhausted  or  impaired. 

QTJe  ©ti'smalitg  antJ  pre:=nnmence  of  C^i^igt  ant 
Cfjristianitg. 

My  second  proposition  is  this — that  from  this  book  may  be 
extracted  a  system  of  religion  entirely  new,  both  Avith  regard 
to  the  object  and  the  doctrines,  not  only  infinitely  superior  to, 
but  totally  unlike  everything  which  had  ever  before  entered 
into  the  mind  of  man,  I  say  extracted,  because  all  the  doc- 
trines of  this  religion  having  been  delivered  at  various  times, 
and  on  various  occasions,  and  here  only  historically  recorded, 
no  uniform  or  regular  system  of  theology  is  here  to  be  found ; 
and  better  perhaps  it  had  been,  if  less  labour  had  been  employed 
by  the  learned  to  bend  and  twist  these  divine  materials  into 
the  polished  forms  of  human  systems,  to  which  they  never  will 
submit,  and  for  which  they  were  never  intended  by  their 
Great  Author.  Why  He  chose  not  to  leave  any  such  behind 
Him  we  know  not,  but  it  might  possibly  be  because  He  knew 
that  the  imperfection  of  man  was  incapable  of  receiving  such  a 
system,  and  that  we  are  more  properly  and  more  safely  con- 
ducted by  the  distant  and  scal^tered  rays  than  by  the  too 
powerful  sunshine  of  divine  illumhiation.  "  If  I  have  told  you 
earthly  things,"  says  He,  "  and  ye  believe  not,  how  shall  ye 
believe  if  I  tell  you  of  heavenly  things  ? "  that  is.  If  Isiy  in- 
structions concerning  your  behaviour  in  the  present  as  relative 


THE  DESIGN  OF  CHEISTIANITY  NEW.  65 

to  a  future  life  are  so  difficult  to  be  understood  that  you  can 
scarcely  believe  Me,  how  shall  you  believe  if  I  endeavoured  to 
explain  to  you  the  nature  of  celestial  beings,  the  designs  of 
Providence,  and  the  mysteries  of  His  dispensations — subjects 
which  you  have  neither  ideas  to  comprehend,  nor  language  to 
express  1 

First,  then.  The  object  of  this  religion  is  entirely  new,  and 
is  this — to  prepare  us  by  a  state  of  probation  for  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.  This  is  everywhere  professed  by  Christ  and  His 
apostles  to  be  the  chief  end  of  the  Christian's  life — the  crown 
for  which  he  is  to  contend,  the  goal  to  which  he  is  to  run,  the 
harvest  which  is  to  pay  him  for  all  his  labours.  Yet  previous 
to  their  preaching  no  such  prize  was  ever  hung  out  to  man- 
kind, nor  any  means  prescribed  for  the  attainment  of  it. 

It  is,  indeed,  true,  that  some  of  the  philosophers  of  antiquity 
entertained  notions  of  a  future  state,  but  mixed  with  much 
doubt  and  uncertainty;  their  legislators  also  endeavoured  to 
infuse  into  the  minds  of  the  people  a  belief  of  rewards  and 
punishments  after  death ;  but  by  this  they  only  intended  to 
give  a  sanction  to  their  laws,  and  to  enforce  the  practice  of 
virtue  for  the  benefit  of  mankind  in  the  present  life.  This 
alone  seems  to  have  been  their  end,  and  a  meritorious  end  it 
was;  but  Christianity  not  only  operates  more  effectually  to 
this  end,  but  has  a  nobler  design  in  view,  which  is,  by  a  pro- 
per education  here  to  render  us  fit  members  of  a  celestial 
society  hereafter.  In  all  former  religions  the  good  of  the  pre- 
sent life  was  the  first  object ;  in  the  Christian  it  is  but  the 
second  :  in  those,  men  were  incited  to  promote  that  good  by 
the  hopes  of  a  future  reward ;  in  tliis,  the  practice  of  virtue  is 
enjoined  in  order  to  qualify  them  for  that  reward.  There  is 
great  difference,  I  apprehend,  in  these  two  plans,  that  is,  in 
adhering  to  virtue,  from  its  present  utility,  in  expectation  of 
future  happiness,  and  living  in  such  a  manner  as  to  qualify  us 
for  the  acceptance  and  enjoyment  of  that  happiness;  and  the 

f2 


66  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY, 

conduct  and  dispositions  of  those  who  act  on  these  different 
imnciples,  must  be  no  less  different :  on  the  first,  the  constant 
practice  of  justice,  temperance,  and  sobriety,  will  be  sufficient; 
but  on  the  latter,  we  must  add  to  these  an  habitual  piety, 
faith,  resignation,  and  contempt  of  the  world :  the  first  may 
make  us  very  good  citizens,  but  will  never  produce  a  tolerable 
Christian.  Hence  it  is  that  Christianity  insists  more  strongly 
than  any  preceding  institution,  religious  or  moral,  on  purity 
of  heart  and  a  benevolent  disposition ;  because  these  are  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  its  great  end;  but  in  those  whose  recom- 
mendations of  -viitue  regard  the  present  life  onl}^,  and  whose 
promised  rewards  in  another  were  low  and  sensual,  no  pre- 
paratory qualifications  were  requisite  to  enable  men  to  practise 
the  one  or  to  enjoy  the  other  :  and  therefore  we  see  this  object 
is  jDeculiar  to  this  religion,  and  with  it  was  entirely  new. 

But  although  this  object,  and  the  principle  on  which  it  is 
founded,  were  new,  and  perhaps  undiscoverable  by  reason,  yet, 
when  discovered,  they  are  so  consonant  to  it,  that  we  cannot 
but  readily  assent  to  them.  For  the  truth  of  this  principle, 
that  the  present  life  is  a  state  of  probation,  and  education 
to  prepare  us  for  another,  is  confirmed  by  everything  which  we 
see  around  us  :  it  is  the  only  key  which  can  open  to  us  the 
designs  of  Providence  in  the  economy  of  human  affairs — the 
only  clue  which  can  guide  us  through  that  pathless  wilderness 
— and  the  only  plan  on  which  this  world  could  possibly  have 
been  formed,  or  on  which  the  history  of  it  can  be  compre- 
hended or  explained.  It  could  never  have  been  formed  on  a 
plan  of  happiness;  because  it  is  everywhere  overspread  with 
innumerable  miseries ;  nor  of  misery,  because  it  is  interspersed 
with  many  enjoyments :  it  could  not  have  been  constituted  for 
a  scene  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  because  the  history  of  mankind 
is  little  more  than  a  detail  of  their  follies  and  wickedness ;  nor 
of  vice,  because  that  is  no  plan  at  all,  being  destructive  of  all 
existence,  and  consequently  of  its  own.     But  on  this  system 


1T6  DOCTEINEB  NE^V,  67 

all  that  we  here  meet  with  may  be  easily  accounted  for;  for 
this  mixture  of  happiness  and  misery,  of  virtue  and  vice,  neces- 
sarily results  from  a  state  of  probation  and  education — as  pro- 
bation implies  trials,  sufferings,  and  a  capacity  of  offending, 
and  education  a  propriety  of  chastisement  for  those  offences. 

In  the  next  place,  the  doctrines  of  this  religion  are  equally 
new  with  the  object,  and  contain  ideas  of  God  and  of  man,  of 
the  present  and  of  a  future  life,  and  of  the  relations  which  all 
these  bear  to  each  other,  totally  unheard  of,  and  quite  dissi- 
milar from  any  which  had  ever  been  thought  on,  previous  to 
its  publication.  No  other  ever  drew  so  just  a  portrait  of  the 
worthlessness  of  this  world,  and  all  its  pursuits,  nor  exhibited 
such  distinct,  lively,  and  exquisite  pictures  of  the  joys  of 
another-— of  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  the  last  judgment, 
and  the  triumphs  of  the  righteous  in  that  tremendous  day, 
"when  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorruption,  and  this 
mortal  shall  put  on  immortality."  No  other  has  ever  repre- 
sented the  Supreme  Being  in  the  character  of  three  persons 
united  in  one  God.  No  other  has  attempted  to  reconcile 
those  seeming  contradictory  but  both  true  propositions,  the 
contingency  of  future  events  and  the  foreknowledge  of  God, 
or  the  free  will  of  the  creature  with  the  overruling  grace  of  the 
Creator.  No  other  has  so  fully  declared  the  necessity  of 
■^\ickedness  and  punishment,  yet  so  effectually  instructed  indi- 
viduals to  resist  the  one  and  to  escape  the  other :  no  other 
has  ever  pretended  to  give  any  account  of  the  depravity  of 
man,  or  to  point  out  any  remedy  for  it:  no  other  has  ven- 
tured to  declare  the  unpardonable  nature  of  sin  without  the 
influence  of  a  mediatorial  interposition,  and  a  vicarious  atone- 
ment from  the  sufferings  of  a  superior  Being.  Whether  these 
wonderful  doctrines  are  worthy  of  our  belief,  must  depend  on 
the  opinion  which  we  entertain  of  the  authority  of  those  who 
published  them  to  the  world ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  they  are 
all  so  far  removed  from  every  tract  of  the  human  imagmation, 


6S  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUBY. 

that  it  seems  equally  impossible  tliat  tliey  should  ever  have 
been  derived  from  the  knowledge  or  the  artifice  of  man. 

And  here  I  cannot  omit  observuig,  that  the  personal  charac- 
ter of  the  Author  of  this  religion  is  no  less  new  and  extra- 
ordmary  than  the  religion  itself,  who  "  sj^ake  as  never  man 
spake,"  and  lived  as  never  man  lived.  In  proof  of  this,  I  do 
not  mean  to  allege  that  He  was  born  of  a  virgin,  that  He  fasted 
forty  days,  that  He  performed  a  variety  of  miracles,  and  after 
being  buried  three  days,  that  He  arose  from  the  dead ;  because 
these  accounts  will  have  but  little  effect  on  the  minds  of  un- 
believers, who,  if  they  believe  not  the  religion,  will  give  no 
credit  to  the  relation  of  these  facts ;  but  I  will  prove  it  from 
facts  which  cannot  be  disputed.  For  instance,  He  is  the  only 
founder  of  a  religion  in  the  liistory  of  mankind  which  is  totally 
unconnected  with  all  human  policy  and  government,  and 
therefore  totally  unconducive  to  any  worldly  purpose  whatever; 
all  others,  Mohammed,  Numa,  and  even  Moses  himself,  blended 
their  religious  institutions  with  their  civil,  and  by  them  ob- 
tained dominion  over  their  respective  people;  but  Christ 
neither  aimed  at,  nor  w^ould  accept  of  any  such  power ;  He 
rejected  every  object  which  all  other  men  pursue,  and  made 
choice  of  all  those  which  others  fly  from  and  are  afraid  of. 
He  refused  power,  riches,  honours,  and  pleasure,  and  courted 
poverty,  ignommy,  tortures,  and  death.  ISIany  have  been  the 
enthusiasts  and  impostors,  who  have  endeavoured  to  impose 
on  the  w^orld  pretended  revelations,  and  some  of  them,  from 
pride,  obstinacy,  or  principle,  have  gone  so  far  as  to  lay  down 
their  lives  rather  than  retract ;  but  I  defy  history  to  shew  one 
who  ever  made  his  own  sufferings  and  death  a  necessary  part 
of  his  original  plan,  and  essential  to  his  mission.  This  Christ 
actually  did;  He  foresaw,  foretold,  declared  their  necessity, 
and  voluntarily  endured  them.  If  we  seriously  contemplate 
the  Divine  lessons,  the  perfect  precepts,  the  beautiful  dis- 
courses, and  the  consistent  conduct  of  this  wonderful  person, 


CONTRAST  WITH  PAGANISM.  60 

we  cannot  possibly  imagine  that  He  could  have  been  either  an 
idiot  or  a  madman ;  and  yet  if  He  was  not  what  He  pretended 
to  be,  He  can  be  considered  in  no  other  light ;  and  even  under 
this  character  He  would  deserve  some  attention,  because  of 
so  sublime  and  rational  an  insanity  there  is  no  other  instance 
in  the  history  of  mankind. 

If  any  one  can  doubt  of  the  superior  excellence  of  this 
religion  above  all  which  preceded  it,  let  him  but  peruse  with 
attention  those  unparalleled  writings  in  which  it  is  transmitted 
to  the  present  times,  and  compare  them  with  the  most  cele- 
brated productions  of  the  pagan  world ;  and  if  he  is  not  sen- 
sible of  their  superior  beauty,  simplicity,  and  originality,  I  will 
venture  to  pronounce  that  he  is  as  deficient  in  taste  as  in  faith, 
and  that  he  is  as  bad  a  critic  as  a  Christian.  For  in  what 
school  of  ancient  philosophy  can  he  find  a  lesson  of  morality 
so  perfect  as  Christ's  Sermon  on  the  Mount  ?  From  which  of 
them  can  he  collect  an  address  to  the  Deity  so  concise,  and 
yet  so  comprehensive,  so  expressive  of  all  that  we  want  and  all 
that  we  could  deprecate,  as  that  short  prayer  wdiich  He  formed 
for,  and  recommended  to  His  disciples  1  From  the  works  of 
what  sage  of  antiquity  can  he  produce  so  pathetic  a  recom- 
mendation of  benevolence  to  the  distressed,  and  enforced  by 
such  assurances  of  a  reward,  as  in  those  w^ords  of  Christ — 
"  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  pre- 
pared for  you  from  the  foundation  of  the  world  :  for  I  was  an 
hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  meat ;  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me 
drink;  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in;  I  w^as  naked, 
and  ye  clothed  me ;  I  was  sick,  and  ye  visited  me ;  I  was  in 
prison,  and  ye  came  unto  me.  Then  shall  the  righteous  answer 
him,  saying,  Lord,  when  saw  we  thee  an  hungered,  and  fed 
thee  1  or  thirsty,  and  gave  thee  drink  ?  when  saw  we  thee  a 
stranger,  and  took  thee  in  ?  or  naked,  and  clothed  thee  ?  or 
when  saw  we  thee  sick,  or  in  prison,  and  came  unto  thee  1 
Then  shall  he  answer  and  say  unto  them^  Verily  I  say  unto 


70 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 


you,  Inasmucli  as  ye  have  done  it  to  the  least  of  tliese  my 
brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me  "  ?  Where  is  there  so  just 
and  so  elegant  a  reproof  of  eagerness  and  anxiety  in  worldly 
pursuits,  closed  with  so  forcible  an  exhortation  to  confidence 
in  the  goodness  of  our  Creator,  as  in  these  words — "  Behold 
the  fowls  of  the  air ;  for  they  sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap, 
nor  gather  into  barns  j  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedeth  them. 
Ai-e  ye  not  much  better  than  they  ?  Consider  the  lilies  of  the 
field,  how  they  grow ;  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin ;  and 
yet  I  say  unto  you.  That  even  iSolomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these  :  wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the 
grass  of  the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into 
the  oven,  shall  he  not  much  more  clothe  you,  0  ye  of  little 
faith  ?"  By  which  of  their  most  celebrated  poets  are  the  joys 
reserved  for  the  righteous  in  a  future  state,  so  sublimely  de- 
scribed, as  by  this  short  declaration,  that  they  are  superior  to 
all  description — "  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither 
have  entered  into  the  heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath 
prepared  for  them  that  love  him"?  AVhere,  amidst  the  dark 
clouds  of  pagan  philosophy,  can  he  shew  us  such  a  clear  pro- 
spect of  a  future  state,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  resur- 
rection of  the  dead,  and  the  general  judgment,  as  in  St  Paul's 
first  to  the  Corinthians  ?  Or  from  whence  can  he  produce 
such  cogent  exhortations  to  the  practice  of  every  virtue,  such 
ardent  incitements  to  piety  and  devotion,  and  such  assistances 
to  attain  them,  as  those  which  are  to  be  met  with  throughout 
every  passage  of  these  inimitable  writings  ?  To  quote  all  the 
passages  in  them  relative  to  these  subjects,  would  be  almost  to 
transcribe  the  whole  j  it  is  sufficient  to  observe,  that  they  are 
everywhere  stamped  with  such  apparent  marks  of  supernatural 
assistance,  as  render  them  indisputably  superior  to,  and  totally 
unlike  all  human  compositions  whatever ;  and  this  superiority 
and  dissimilarity  is  still  more  strongly  marked  by  one  remark- 
able circumstance  peculiar  to  themselves,  which  is,  that  whilst 


CHRISTIANITY  THE  ONLY  EELIGION.  71 

tlie  moral  parts,  being  of  the  most  general  use,  are  intelligible  to 
the  meanest  capacities,  the  learned  and  inquisitive  throughout 
all  ages  perpetually  find  in  them  inexhaustible  discoveries,  con- 
cerning the  nature,  attributes,  and  dispensations  of  Providence. 
To  say  the  truth,  before  the  appearance  of  Christianity  there 
existed  nothing  like  religion  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  the  Jewish 
only  excepted :  all  other  nations  were  immersed  in  the  grossest 
idolatry,  which  had  little  or  no  connexion  with  morality,  except 
to  corrupt  it  by  the  infamous  examples  of  their  imaginary 
deities :  they  all  worshiiDped  a  multiplicity  of  gods  and  demons, 
whose  favour  they  courted  by  impious,  obscene,  and  ridiculous 
ceremonies,  and  whose  anger  they  endeavoured  to  appease  by 
the  most  abominable  cruelties.  In  the  politest  ages  of  the 
politest  nations  in  the  world,  at  a  time  when  Greece  and  Kome 
had  carried  the  arts  of  oratory,  poetry,  history,  architecture, 
and  sculpture  to  the  highest  perfection,  and  made  no  inconsi- 
derable advance  in  those  of  mathematics,  natural  and  even 
moral  philosophy,  in  religious  knowledge  they  had  made  none 
at  all — a  strong  presumption  that  the  noblest  efforts  of  the 
mind  of  man,  unassisted  by  revelation,  were  unecjual  to  the 
task.  Some  few,  indeed,  of  their  philosophers  were  wise  enough 
to  reject  these  general  absurdities,  and  dared  to  attempt  a 
loftier  flight.  Plato  introduced  many  sublime  ideas  of  nature, 
and  its  First  Cause,  and  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
which  being  above  his  own  and  all  human  discovery,  he 
probably  acquired  from  the  books  of  Moses  or  the  conver- 
sation of  some  Jewish  rabbis,  which  he  might  have  met 
with  in  Egypt,  where  he  resided,  and  studied  for  several 
years ;  from  him  Aristotle,  and  from  both  Cicero  and  some  few 
others,  drew  most  amazing  stores  of  pliilosophical  science,  and 
carried  their  researches  into  divine  truths  as  far  as  human 
genius  alone  could  penetrate.  But  these  were  bright  constel- 
lations, w^hich  appeared  singly  in  several  centuries,  and  even 
these  with  ail  this  knowledge   were  very  deficient   in  true 


72  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY. 

tlieology.  From  tlie  visible  works  of  the  creation  they  traced 
the  being  and  principal  attributes  of  the  Creator;  but  the 
relation  which  His  being  and  attributes  bear  to  man  they  little 
understood.  Of  piety  and  devotion  they  had  scarce  any  sense, 
nor  could  they  form  any  mode  of  worship  vrorthy  of  the  purity 
and  perfection  of  the  Divine  nature.  They  occasionally  flung 
out  many  elegant  encomiums  on  the  native  "beauty  and  excel- 
lence of  virtue,  but  they  founded  it  not  on  the  commands  of 
God,  nor  connected  it  with  a  holy  life,  nor  hung  out  the  happi- 
ness of  heaven  as  its  reward,  or  its  object 

At  this  time  Christianity  broke  forth  from  the  East  like  a 
rising  sun,  and  dispelled  this  universal  darkness  which  ob- 
scured every  part  of  the  globe,  and  even  at  this  day  prevails 
in  all  those  remoter  regions  to  which  its  salutary  influence 
has  not  as  yet  extended.  From  all  those  which  it  has  reached, 
it  has,  notwithstanding  its  corruptions,  banished  all  those 
enormities,  and  introduced  a  more  rational  devotion  and 
purer  morals  :  it  has  taught  men  the  unity  and  attributes  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  the  remission  of  sins,  the  resuiTection  of 
the  dead,  life  everlasting,  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven;  doc- 
trines as  inconceivable  to  the  wisest  of  mankind  antecedent  to 
its  appearance  as  the  Newtonian  system  is  at  this  day  to  the 
most  ignorant  tribes  of  savages  in  the  wilds  of  America ;  doc- 
trines which  human  reason  never  could  have  discovered,  but 
which,  when  discovered,  coincide  with  and  are  confirmed  by 
it ;  and  which,  though  beyond  the  reach  of  all  the  learning 
and  penetration  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  Cicero,  are  now  clearly 
laid  open  to  the  eye  of  every  peasant  and  mechanic  with  the 
Bible  in  his  hand.  These  are  all  plahi  focts,  too  glaring  to 
be  contradicted ;  and  therefore,  whatever  we  may  think  of  the 
authority  of  these  books,  the  relations  which  they  contain,  or 
the  inspiration  of  their  authors,  of  these  facts  no  man  who 
has  eyes  to  read,  or  ears  to  hear,  can  entertain  a  doubt ; 
because  there  arc  the  books,  and  in  them  is  this  religion. 


THEOLOGIANS. 

BISHOP  BUTLER. 

Amongst  the  cultivators  of  sacred  science  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  no  names  stand  out  like  those  of  Butler,  Warburton, 
and  Horsley;  but,  whilst  all  three  extort  our  homage,  it  is 
Butler  alone  who  attracts  our  reverence.  With  his  affluent 
information,  his  fantastic  ingenuity,  and  his  rollicking,  redun- 
dant vigour,  we  are  drawn  towards  Warburton  by  the  spell 
which  invariably  accompanies  force  of  mind  and  originality  of 
character ;  but  we  follow  his  path  with  that  uneasy  sort  of  in- 
terest with  which  we  watch  the  movements  of  an  eccentric 
giant.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  what  feats  he  can  perform;  but 
the  misgiving  crosses  us.  What  next  ?  and  we  fear  for  ourselves 
and  our  most  sacred  convictions,  lest  they  provoke  the  ire  of 
this  hot-blooded  Ishmaelite.  And  although  his  uniform  and 
his  pass-word  dissij^ate  any  such  anxieties  in  the  case  of 
Horsley,  we  admire  the  champion  more  than  we  love  the  man ; 
and  it  needs  all  our  gratitude  for  his  splendid  expositions  to 
reconcile  us  to  his  defiant  tone  and  frequent  sallies  of  proud, 
domineering  dogmatism.  With  Butler,  on  the  contrary,  such 
singleness  of  purpose  is  combined  with  such  intuitive  sagacity, 
as  have  seldom  combined  to  inspire  and  guide  the  seeker  after 
truth;  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  is  most  unique,  his  strength 
or  his  sober-mindedness.  Far  from  being  offended  by  the  bald 
simplicity  of  his  language,  we  hail  it,  along  with  his  contempt 
of  paradox,  as  an  indication  of  his  anxious  truthfulness ;  and 
perhaps  there  is  nothing  which  makes  us  feel  our  own  inferiority 
so  profoundly  as  that  unfaihng  attendant  of  great  souls,  so 
perceptible  in  every  utterance  and  movement  of  this  mighty 
thinker — his  majestic  modesty. 

VOL.    IV.  G 


74  THEOLOGIANS. 

Butler's  great  contribution  to  the  Christian  evidence  has  been 
ah'eady  noticed.*  We  now  go  on  to  give,  from  his  fruitful 
Sermons,  an  example  or  two  of  the  method  in  which  he  har- 
monises the  deliverances  of  revelation  with  the  requirements  of 
reason.  Our  extracts  will  have  a  further  value,  as  shewing  how 
unostentatiously  great  principles  may  be  enunciated  by  one 
whose  lofty  standing-place  makes  him  familiar  with  a  wide 
horizon. 

Efje  Suprentacg  of  Conscimce, 

There  is  a  superior  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  ill 
every  man,  which  distinguishes  between  the  internal  principles 
of  his  heart,  as  well  as  his  external  actions :  which  passes  judg- 
ment upon  himself  and  them ;  pronounces  determinately  some 
actions  to  be  in  themselves  just,  right,  good;  others  to  be  in 
themselves  evil,  wrong,  unjust :  which,  without  being  consulted, 
without  being  advised  with,  magisterially  exerts  itself,  and 
approves  or  condemns  the  doer  of  them  accordingly :  and 
which,  if  not  forcibly  stopped,  naturally  and  always  of  course 
goes  on  to  anticipate  a  higher  and  more  effectual  sentence, 
which  shall  hereafter  second  and  affirm  its  own.  But  this  part 
of  the  office  of  conscience  is  beyond  my  present  design  exi3licitly 
to  consider.  It  is  by  this  faculty,  natural  to  man,  that  he  is  a 
moral  agent,  that  he  is  a  law  to  himself:  but  this  faculty,  I 
say,  not  to  be  considered  merely  as  a  principle  in  his  heart 
which  is  to  have  some  influence  as  well  as  others;  but  con- 
sidered as  a  faculty  in  kind  and  in  nature  supreme  over  all 
others,  and  which  bears  its  own  authority  of  being  so. 

This  prerogative,  this  natural  supremacy,  of  the  faculty  which 
surveys,  approves,  or  disapproves  the  several  aftections  of  our 
mind,  and  actions  of  our  lives,  being  that  by  which  men  are  a 
law  to  themselveSjt  their  confonnity  or  disobedience  to  which 
law  of  our  nature  renders  their  actions,  in  the  highest  and  most 
'^  Christian  Classics^  vol  iv.  p.  35.  +  Kom.  ii.  14. 


SUPREMACY  OF  CONSCIENCE.  75 

proper  sense,  natural  or  unnatural;  it  is  fit  it  be  furtlicr  ex- 
plained to  you :  and  I  hope  it  will  be  so,  if  you  will  attciid  to 
the  following  reflections. 

Man  may  act  according  to  that  principle  or  inclination  which 
for  the  present  happens  to  be  strongest,  and  yet  act  in  a  way 
disproportionate  to,  and  \4olate  his  real  proper  nature.  Sup- 
pose a  brute  creature  by  any  bait  to  be  allured  into  a  snare,  by 
which  he  is  destroyed.  He  j^lainly  followed  the  bent  of  his 
nature  leading  him  to  gratify  his  appetite :  there  is  an  entire 
correspondence  between  his  whole  nature  and  such  an  action : 
such  action  therefore  is  na,tural.  But  suppose  a  man,  foresee- 
ing the  same  danger  of  certain  ruin,  should  rush  into  it  for  the 
sake  of  a  present  gratification ;  he  in  this  instance  would  follow 
his  strongest  desire,  as  did  the  brute  creature :  but  there  would 
be  as  manifest  a  disproportion  between  the  nature  of  a  man  and 
such  an  action,  as  between  the  meanest  work  of  art  and  the  skill 
of  the  greatest  master  in  that  art :  which  disproportion  arises, 
not  from  considering  the  action  singly  in  itself,  or  in  its  conse- 
quences, but  from  comparison  of  it  with  the  nature  of  the  agent. 
And  since  such  an  action  is  utterly  disproportionate  to  the 
nature  of  man,  it  is  in  the  strictest  and  most  proper  sense  un- 
natural; this  word  expressing  that  disproportion.  Therefore, 
instead  of  the  words,  disproportionate  to  his  nature,  the  word 
unnatural  may  now  be  put,  this  being  more  familiar  to  us;  but 
let  it  be  observed,  that  it  stands  for  the  same  thing  precisely. 

Now  what  is  it  which  renders  such  a  rash  action  unnatural  ? 
Is  it  that  he  went  against  the  principle  of  reasonable  and  cool 
self-love,  considered  merely  as  a  part  of  his  nature  1  No  :  for 
if  he  had  acted  the  contrary  way,  he  would  equally  have  gone 
against  a  principle,  or  part  of  his  nature,  namely,  passion  or 
appetite.  But  to  deny  a  present  appetite,  from  foresight  that 
the  gratification  of  it  would  end  in  immediate  ruin  or  extreme 
misery,  is  by  no  means  an  unnatural  action ;  whereas,  to  con- 
tradict or  go  against  cool  self-love  for  the  sake  of  such  gratifi- 


76  THEOLOGIANS. 

cation,  is  so  in  the  instance  before  lis.  Such  an  action,  then, 
being  unnatural,  and  its  being  so  not  arising  from  a  man's 
going  against  a  principle  or  desire  barely,  nor  in  going  against 
that  principle  or  desire  which  haj^pcns  for  the  present  to  be 
strongest,  it  necessarily  follows,  that  there  must  be  some 
other  difference  or  distinction  to  be  made  between  these  two 
principles,  passion  and  cool  self-love,  than  what  I  have  yet 
taken  notice  of.  And  this  difference,  not  being  a  difference 
in  strength  or  degree,  I  call  a  difference  in  nature  and  in  kind. 
And  since,  in  the  instance  still  before  us,  if  passion  prevails 
over  self-love,  the  consequent  action  is  unnatural ;  but  if  self- 
love  prevails  over  passion,  the  action  is  natural  :  it  is  mani- 
fest that  self-love  is  in  human  nature  a  superior  principle  to 
passion.  This  may  be  contradicted  without  violating  that 
nature,  but  the  former  cannot ;  so  that,  if  we  will  act  con- 
formably to  the  economy  of  man's  nature,  reasonable  self-love 
must  govern.  Thus,  without  particular  consideration  of  con- 
science, we  may  have  a  clear  conception  of  the  superior  nature 
of  one  inward  princii^le  to  another,  and  see  that  there  really  is 
this  natural  superiority,  quite  distinct  from  degrees  of  strength 
and  prevalency. 

Let  us  now  take  a  view  of  the  nature  of  man,  as  consistim^ 
partly  of  various  appetites,  passions,  affections,  and  partly  of 
the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience,  leaving  quite  out  all 
consideration  of  the  different  degrees  of  streng-th,  in  which 
either  of  them  prevail,  and  it  will  further  appear  that  there  is 
this  natural  superiority  of  one  inward  principle  to  another, 
and  that  it  is  even  part  of  the  idea  of  reflection  or  conscience. 

Passion  or  api^etite  implies  a  direct  simple  tendency  towards 
such  and  such  objects,  without  distinction  of  the  means  by 
which  they  are  to  be  obtained ;  consequently  it  will  often 
happen  there  will  be  a  desire  of  particular  objects,  in  cases 
where  they  cannot  be  obtained  without  manifest  injury  to 
others,     lleflection   or  conscience  comes  in,  and  disapproves 


RIGHT  AND  MIGHT.  77 

tlic  pursuit  of  tliem  iii  these  circumstances,  but  the  desire 
remains.  Which  is  to  be  obeyed,  appetite  or  reflection  1  Can- 
not this  question  be  answered,  from  the  economy  and  consti- 
tution of  human  nature  merely,  without  saying  which  is 
strongest?  Or  need  this  at  all  come  into  consideration? 
Would  not  the  question  be  intelligibly  and  fiiUy  answered  by 
saying,  that  the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  being  com- 
pared with  the  various  appetites,  passions,  and  affections  in 
men,  the  former  is  manifestly  superior  and  chief,  without 
regard  to  strength  1  And  how  often  soever  the  latter  happens 
to  prevail,  it  is  mere  usurpation.  The  former  remains  in  nature 
and  in  kind  its  superior,  and  every  instance  of  such  prevalence 
of  the  latter,  is  an  instance  of  breaking  in  upon  and  violation 
of  the  constitution  of  man. 

All  this  is  no  more  than  the  distinction,  which  everybody  is 
acquainted  with,  between  mere  power  and  authority;  only, 
instead  of  being  intended  to  express  the  difference  between 
what  is  possible,  and  what  is  lawful  in  civil  government  j  here 
it  has  been  shewn  applicable  to  the  several  principles  in  the 
mind  of  man.  Thus  that  principle  by  which  we  survey,  and 
either  approve  or  disapprove  our  own  heart,  temper,  and 
actions,  is  not  only  to  be  considered  as  what  is  in  its  turn  to 
have  some  influence,  which  may  be  said  of  every  passion,  of 
the  lowest  appetites ;  but  lil^ewise  as  being  superior,  as  from 
its  veiy  nature  manifestly  claiming  superiority  over  all  others, 
insomuch  that  you  cannot  form  a  notion  of  this  faculty,  con- 
science, without  taking  in  judgment,  direction,  superintendency. 
This  is  a  constituent  part  of  the  idea,  that  is,  of  the  faculty 
itself,  and  to  preside  and  govern,  from  the  very  economy  and 
constitution  of  man,  belongs  to  it.  Had  it  strength,  as  it  has 
right;  had  it  power,  as  it  has  manifest  authority,  it  would 
absolutely  govern  the  world. 

This  gives  us  a  further  view  of  the  nature  of  man,  shews 
us  what  course  of  life  we  were  made  for,  not  only  that  our 

g2 


78  THEOLOGIANS. 

real  nature  leads  us  to  be  iiifinenced  in  some  degree  by  reflec- 
tion and  conscience,  but  likewise  in  what  degree  we  are  to  be 
influenced  by  it,  if  we  will  fall  in  with,  and  act  agreeably  to 
the  constitution  of  our  nature ;  that  this  faculty  Avas  placed 
within  to  be  our  proper  governor,  to  direct  and  regulate  all 
under  principles,  passions,  and  motives  of  action.  This  is  its 
right  and  oflice  ;  thus  sacred  is  its  authority.  And  how  often 
soever  men  violate  and  rebelliously  refuse  to  submit  to  it,  for 
supposed  interest  which  they  cannot  otherwise  obtain,  or  for 
the  sake  of  j^assion  v/hich  they  cannot  othcrmse  gratify ;  tliis 
makes  no  alteration  as  to  the  natural  right  and  office  of  con- 
science. 


©n  3Loi)c  t0  ^otJ. 

As  wc  cannot  remove  from  this  earth,  or  change  our  general 
business  on  it,  so  neither  can  we  alter  our  real  nature ;  there- 
fore, no  exercise  of  the  mind  can  be  recommended,  but  only 
the  exercise  of  those  faculties  you  are  conscious  of.  Eeligion 
does  not  demand  new  affections,  but  only  claims  the  direction 
of  those  you  already  have,  those  affections  you  daily  feel, 
though  unhappily  confined  to  objects,  not  altogether  unsuit- 
able, but  altogether  unequal,  to  them.  We  only  represent  to 
you  the  higher,  the  adequate  objects  of  those  very  faculties 
and  affections.  Let  the  man  of  ambition  go  on  still  to  consi- 
der disgrace  as  the  greatest  evil,  honour  as  his  chief  good. 
But  disgrace,  in  whose  estimation  ?  Honour,  in  whose  judg- 
ment ?  This  is  the  only  question.  If  shame,  and  delight  in 
esteem  be  spoken  of  as  real,  as  any  settled  ground  of  pain  or 
pleasure,  both  these  must  be  in  proportion  to  the  supposed 
wisdom  and  worth  of  him,  by  whom  w^e  are  contemned  or 
esteemed.  Must  it  then  be  thought  cnthusiastical  to  speak  of 
a  sensibility  of  this  sort,  wliich  shall  have  respect  to  an  unerr- 
ing judgment,  to  intinite  wisdom,  when  we  are  assured  this 


LOVE  TO  GOD.  79 

iiiierriiig  judgmeiit,  this  infinite  wisdom,  does  observe  upon 
our  actions  ? 

It  is  the  same  with  respect  to  the  love  of  God  in  the  strict- 
est and  most  confined  sense.  We  only  offer  and  represent  the 
highest  object  of  an  afi'ection,  supposed  already  in  your  mind. 
Some  degree  of  goodness  must  be  previously  supposed.  This 
always  implies  the  love  of  itself,  an  affection  to  goodness. 
The  highest,  the  adequate  object  of  this  affection,  is  perfect 
goodness,  which,  therefore,  we  are  to  love  with  all  our  heart, 
with  all  our  soul,  and  with  all  our  strength.  "  Must  we,  then, 
forgetting  our  own  interest,  as  it  were,  go  out  of  ourselves,  and 
love  God  for  His  own  sake  ?"  No  more  forget  your  own  in- 
terest, no  more  go  out  of  yourselves  than  when  you  prefer  one 
place,  one  prospect,  the  conversation  of  one  man  to  that  of 
another.  Does  not  every  affection  necessarily  imply,  that  the 
object  of  it  be  itself  loved  ?  If  it  be  not,  it  is  not  the  object 
of  the  affection.  You  may,  and  ought,  if  you  can,  but  it  is  a 
great  mistake  to  think  you  can  love,  or  fear,  or  hate  anything, 
from  consideration  that  such  love,  or  fear,  or  hatred,  may  be  a 
means  of  obtaining  good  or  avoiding  evil.  But  the  question 
whether  we  ought  to  love  God  for  His  sake  or  for  our  own 
being  a  mere  mistake  in  language,  the  real  question,  which 
this  is  mistaken  for,  will,  I  suppose,  be  answered  by  observing, 
that  the  goodness  of  God  already  exercised  towards  us,  our 
present  dependence  upon  Him,  and  our  expectation  of  future 
benefits,  ought  and  have  a  natural  tendency  to  beget  in  us 
the  affection  of  gratitude  and  greater  love  towards  Him,  than 
the  same  goodness  exercised  towards  others,  were  it  only  for 
this  reason,  that  every  affection  is  moved  in  proportion  to  the 
sense  we  have  of  the  object  of  it ;  and  we  cannot  but  have  a 
more  lively  sense  of  goodness,  when  exercised  towards  our- 
selves, than  when  exercised  towards  others.  I  added  expecta- 
tion of  future  benefits,  because  the  ground  of  that  expectation 
is  present  goodness. 


80  THEOLOGIANS. 

Thus  Almighty  God  is  the  natural  object  of  the  several 
affections — love,  reverence,  fear,  desire  of  approbation.  For 
though  He  is  simply  one,  yet  we  cannot  but  consider  Him  in 
partial  and  different  views.  He  is  in  Himself  one  uniform 
being,  and  for  ever  the  same,  without  variableness  or  shadow 
of  turning;  but  His  infinite  greatness,  His  goodness.  His 
msdom,  are  different  objects  to  our  mind.  To  which  is  to  be 
added,  that  from  the  changes  in  our  own  characters,  together 
with  His  unchangeableness,  we  cannot  but  consider  ourselves 
as  more  or  less  the  objects  of  His  approbation,  and  really  be 
so.  For  if  He  approves  what  is  good.  He  cannot,  merely  from 
the  unchangeableness  of  His  nature,  approve  what  is  evil. 
Hence  must  arise  more  various  movements  of  mind,  more  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  affections.  And  this  greater  variety  also  is  just 
and  reasonable  in  such  creatures  as  we  are,  though  it  respects 
a  Being,  simply  one,  good  and  perfect.  As  some  of  these 
affections  are  most  particularly  suitable  to  so  imperfect  a  crea- 
ture as  man,  in  this  mortal  state  we  are  passing  through,  so 
there  may  be  other  exercises  of  mind,  or  some  of  these  in 
higher  degrees,  our  emijloyment  and  happiness  in  a  state  of 
perfection. 

BISHOP  WARBUUTON". 

William  Waeburton  was  the  son  of  the  town-clerk  of  Newark- 
upon-Trent,  and  was  born  there,  December  24,  1698.  His  first 
education  was  that  of  an  attorney;  but  having  an  inclination 
for  study  greater  than  could  be  gratified  in  the  bustle  and  in- 
terruption of  a  provincial  lawyer's  office,  he  exchanged  it  for 
the  clerical  profession.  In  1723  he  received  deacon's  orders, 
and  in  1728  was  presented  to  the  rectory  of  Brand  Broughton, 
near  his  native  town.  Here  he  pursued  his  favourite  researches 
with  uncommon  energy,  and  here  he  wrote  a  work  on  "The 
Alliance  between  Church  and  State,"  which  appeared  in  173G, 
and  produced  a  considerable  sensation.     The  attention,  hoW' 


WARBURTON.  81 

ever,  which  tliis  vohime  attracted  was  soon  absorbed  m  the 
commotion  produced  by  its  successor  at  the  ojoening  of  1738. 
This  was  the  first  volume  of  the  work  with  which  the  name  of 
Warburton  is  now  associated  as  intimately,  if  not  as  happily, 
as  is  that  of  Butler  with  the  "  Analogy."  Its  title  sufficiently 
explains  its  object :  "  The  Divine  Legation  of  Moses  demon- 
strated on  the  principles  of  a  religious  Deist,  from  the  omission 
of  the  doctrine  of  a  future  state  of  reward  and  punishment  in 
the  Jewish  Dispensation."  The  second  volume,  in  two  parts, 
succeeded  in  1741.  In  this  work  he  found  ample  scope  for 
his  adroit  and  daring  ingenuity  in  maintaining  its  leading  para- 
dox ;  and  for  his  multifarious  erudition  he  created  an  outlet,  as 
often  as  he  pleased,  in  those  brilliant  episodes  and  amusing 
digressions  which  still  allure  the  scholar  to  his  animated 
pages. 

The  "  Legation  "  gave  rise  to  a  vast  amount  of  angry  contro- 
versy, in  which,  however,  no  champion  took  the  field  more 
fierce  or  doughty  than  our  author  himself.  In  the  meanwhile, 
a  remarkable  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  the  fiery 
polemic  and  the  bard  of  Twickenham.  Besides  publishing  a 
Vindication  of  "  The  Essay  on  ]\Ian,"  he  wrote  notes  to  "  The 
Dunciad,"  and  revised  the  "  Essay  on  Homer."  As  a  mark  of 
regard.  Pope  bequeathed  to  him  the  half  of  his  library,  and 
appointed  him  his  literary  executor.  In  17ol  he  published 
Pope's  Works,  with  notes,  in  nine  volumes  octavo. 

In  1757  he  was  advanced  to  the  deanery  of  Bristol,  and  was 
consecrated  Bisliop  of  Gloucester  in  1760.  He  died  at  his 
palace  there,  June  7,  1779,  and  was  buried  in  his  own 
cathedral. 

Of  the  invective  and  scurrility  contained  in  "the  most 
learned,  most  arrogant,  and  most  absurd  work  of  the  eighteenth 
century,"  it  is  better  not  to  give  illustrations.  As  a  specimen 
of  its  better  style,  we  quote  the  following  remarks  on 


82  THEOLOaiANS. 

^brafjam's  ^acrifi'ce  of  3Isaac. 

They  say,  God  could  never  give  such  a  command  to  Abra- 
ham, because  it  would  throw  him  into  inextricable  doubts 
concerning  the  Author  of  it,  as  whether  it  proceeded  from  a 
good  or  evil  being.  Or  if  not  so,  but  that  he  could  persuade 
himself  it  came  from  God,  it  would  then  mislead  him  in  his 
notions  of  the  Divine  attributes,  and  of  the  fundamental 
principles  of  morality.  Because,  though  the  revoking  the 
command  prevented  the  homicide,  yet  the  action  being  com- 
manded, and,  at  the  revocation,  not  condemned,  Abraham  and 
his  family  must  needs  have  thought  human  sacrifices  grateful 
to  the  Almighty  ;  for  a  simple  revoking  was  no  condemna- 
tion, but  would  be  more  naturally  esteemed  a  peculiar  in- 
dulgence for  a  ready  obedience.  Thus,  the  Pagan  fable  of 
Diana's  substituting  a  hind  in  the  place  of  Iphigenia  did  not 
make  idolaters  believe  that  she  therefore  abhorred  human 
sacrifices,  they  having  been  before  persuaded  of  the  contrary. 
This  is  the  whole  substance,  only  set  in  a  clearer  light,  of  all 
their  dull  cloudy  dissertations  on  the  case  of  Abraham. 

1.  Let  us  see,  then,  how  his  case  stood.  God  had  been 
pleased  to  reveal  to  him  His  eternal  purpose  of  making  all 
mankind  blessed  through  him,  and  to  confirm  this  promise, 
in  a  regular  course  of  successive  revelations,  each  fuller  and 
more  explicit  than  the  other.  By  this  time,  the  Father  of  the 
Faithful,  as  we  must  needs  suppose  from  the  nature  of  the 
thing,  would  be  grown  very  desirous  of  knowing  the  manner 
how  this  blessing  was  to  be  brought  about — a  mystery,  if  we 
will  believe  the  Author  of  our  faith,  that  engaged  the  atten- 
tion of  other  holy  men,  less  concerned  than  Abraham,  and, 
consequently,  less  stimulated  and  excited  by  their  curiosity — 
"  And  Jesus  turned  to  his  disciples,  and  said  privately,  Blessed 
are  the  eyes  which  see  the  things  which  ye  see.  For  I  tell 
you  that  many  prophets  and  Idngs  have  desired  to  see  those 


ABRAHAM  SEES  OHRISt's  DAY.  83 

things  wliicli  ye  see,  and  have  not  seen  them,  and  to  hear  those 
things  which  ye  hear,  and  have  not  heard  them  "  (Luke  x.  23, 
24).  But  we  are  assured,  by  the  same  authority,  that  Abra- 
ham had,  in  fact,  this  very  desire  highly  raised  in  him — "  Abra- 
ham rejoiced  to  see  my  day,"  says  Jesus,  "  and  he  saw  it,  and 
was  glad ;"  or  rather,  he  rejoiced  that  he  might  see,  INA  lAl^  ; 
which  implies,  that  the  period  of  this  joy  was  in  the  space 
between  the  promise  that  the  favour  should  be  conferred  and 
the  actual  conferring  it,  in  the  delivery  of  the  command  ;  con- 
secj[uently,  that  it  was  granted  at  his  earnest  request.  In  the 
second  place  we  shall  prove,  from  the  same  words,  that  Abra- 
ham, at  the  time  the  command  was  given,  knew  it  to  be  this 
revelation  granted  at  his  earnest  request — "  Your  father  Abra- 
ham rejoiced  to  see  my  day,  and  he  saw  it,  and  was  glad." 

A^pacifj,  6  TTaTrjp  vfiSv  ^yaXXtacraro  INA  lA^  rrjv  r^iipav  rrfv  efj-rjv' 

Ka\  €i8e,  Ka\  ixaprj.  We  have  observed  that  ha  tdr),  in  strict  pro- 
priety, signifies  "that  he  might  see."  The  English  phrase, 
"  to  see,"  is  equivocal  and  ambiguous,  and  means  either  the 
present  time — "  that  he  did  then  see  " — or  the  future,  "  that 
he  was  promised  he  should  see  ; "  but  the  original  tva  Urj  has 
only  the  latter  sense.  So  that  the  text  plainly  distinguishes 
two  different  periods  of  joy — the  first,  when  it  was  promised 
he  should  see  ;  the  second,  when  he  actually  saw  ; — and  it  is 
to  be  observed,  that,  in  the  exact  use  of  the  words,  dyaXkidofiai 
signifies  that  tumultuous  pleasure  which  the  certain  expecta- 
tion of  an  approaching  blessing,  understood  only  in  the  gross, 
occasions  ;  and  x^^P^  that  calm  and  settled  joy  that  arises 
from  our  knowledge,  in  the  possession  of  it.  But  the  transla- 
tors, perhaps,  not  apprehending  there  was  any  time  between 
the  grant  to  see  and  the  seeing,  turned  it,  he  "  rejoiced  to 
see  ; "  as  if  it  had  been  the  paraphrase  of  the  poet  Nonnus — 

IB^lv  T)ya.WsTo  Bvp^' 

whereas  this  history  of  Abraham  has  plainly  three  distinct 
periods.      The  first  contains  God's  promise  to  grant  his  re- 


84  THEOLOGIANS. 

quest,  when  Abraham  rejoiced  that  he  should  see ;  this,  for 
reasons  given  above,  was  wisely  omitted  by  the  historian ; — 
within  the  second  was  the  delivery  of  the  command,  with 
which  Moses'  account  begins ;  —  and  Abraham's  obedience, 
through  which  he  saw  Christ's  day  and  was  glad,  includes  the 
third.  Thus  the  patriarch,  we  find,  had  a  promise  that  his 
request  should  be  granted  ;  and,  in  pursuance  of  that  promise, 
an  action  is  commanded,  which,  at  that  time,  was  a  common 
mode  of  information ;  he  must  needs,  therefore,  know  it  to  be 
the  very  information  so  much  requested,  so  graciously  pro- 
mised, and  so  impatiently  expected.  We  conclude,  therefore, 
on  the  whole,  that  this  command  being  only  the  grant  of  an 
earnest  request,  and  known  by  Abraham,  at  the  tune  of  impos- 
ing, to  be  such  grant,  he  could  not  possibly  have  any  doubt 
concerning  the  Author  of  it.  He  w^as  soliciting  the  God  of 
heaven  to  reveal  to  him  the  mystery  of  man's  redemption,  and 
he  receives  this  revelation  in  a  command  to  offer  Isaac  —  a 
revelation  that  had  the  closest  connexion  with,  and  was  the 
fullest  completion  of,  the  whole  series  of  the  preceding. 

2.  For,  as  we  come  now  to  shew,  in  answer  to  the  second 
part  of  the  objection,  the  command  could  occasion  no  mis- 
takes concerning  the  Divine  attributes ;  it  was,  as  we  have 
proved,  only  the  conveyance  of  an  information  by  action  in- 
stead of  words,  in  conformity  to  the  common  mode  of  con- 
versing in  early  times.  This  action,  therefore,  being  mere 
scenery,  and,  like  words,  only  of  arbitrary  signification,  it  had 
no  moral  import ;  that  is,  it  conveys  or  implies  none  of  those 
intentions  in  the  prescriber  which  go  along  with  actions  that 
have  a  moral  import.  Consequently,  the  injunction  of  such 
an  action  as  hath  it  not  can  no  way  affect  the  moral  character 
of  the  person  commanding  ;  and,  consequently,  this  command 
could  occasion  no  mistakes  concerning  the  Divine  attributes 
with  regard  to  God's  delighting  in  human  sacrifices.  On  the 
contrary,  the  very  information  conveyed  by  it  was  the  highest 


THE  SACRIFICE  OF  ISAAC.  S5 

assurance,  to  tlie  person  informed,  of  God's  good-^Yill  towards 
mankind.  Hence  we  see  there  was  not  the  least  occasion, 
when  God  remitted  the  offering  of  Isaac,  that  He  should  for- 
mally condemn  human  sacrifices,  to  prevent  Abraham  or  his 
family's  falling  into  an  opinion,  that  such  sacrifices  were  not 
displeasing  to  Him;  no  more  than  for  the  prophet  Ahijah, 
when  he  had  rent  Jeroboam's  garment  into  twelve  pieces,  to 
denote  the  ensuing  division  in  the  tribes  of  Israel,^^  to  deliver 
a  moral  precept  against  the  sinfulness  of  pulling  our  neigh- 
bours' clothes  off  their  backs ;  for  the  command  having,  as  we 
said,  no  moral  import — being  only  an  information  by  action 
where  one  thing  stood  for  the  representative  of  another — all 
the  consequence  that  could  be  deduced  from  it  was  only  this, 
that  the  Son  of  God  should  be  offered  up  for  the  sins  of  man- 
kind ;  therefore,  the  conceptions  they  had  of  human  sacrifices, 
after  the  command,  must  needs  be  just  the  same  with  that 
they  had  before  ;  and,  therefore,  instruction  concerning  the 
execrable  nature  of  human  sacrifices  was  not  only  needless,  but 
quite  beside  the  question. 

3.  And  now  we  see  the  weakness  of  the  third  and  last  part 
of  the  objection,  which  supposes  this  command  capable  of 
affording  a  temptation  to  transgress  any  fundamental  principle 
of  the  law  of  nature — one  of  which  obliges  us  to  cherish  and 
protect  our  offspring,  and  another  to  forbear  the  injuring  our 
neighbour — for  as,  by  the  command,  Abraham  understood  the 
nature  of  man's  redemption,  so,  by  the  nature  of  that  redemp- 
tion, he  must  know  how  the  scenical  representation  was  to 
end.  Isaac,  he  saw,  was  made  the  person  or  representative  of 
Christ  dying  for  us  ;  the  Son  of  God,  he  knew,  could  not  pos- 
sibly lie  under  the  dominion  of  the  grave.  Hence,  he  must 
needs  conclude  one  of  these  two  things  —  either  that  God 
would  stop  his  hand  when  he  came  to  give  the  sacrificing 
stroke,  or  that,  if  the  revelation  of  this  mystery  was  to  be  re- 
presented throughout  in  action,  that  then  his  son,  sacrificed 

VOL,  IV.  H 


86  THEOLOGIANS. 

in  the  person  of  Christ,  was  immediately  to  be  restored  to 
life — "  accounting,"  as  he  well  might,  "  that  God  was  able  to 
raise  him  up  even  from  the  dead,"  as  the  author  of  the  Ej^istle 
to  the  Hebrews,  who  seems  to  have  been  full  of  the  idea  here 
exphiined,  assures  us  he  did  believe. 

Now,  where  was  the  temptation  to  violate  any  principle  of 
morality  in  all  this  ?  The  law  of  nature  commands  him  to 
cherish  and  protect  his  offspring.  Was  that  transgressed  in 
giving  a  stroke  whose  hurt  was  instantaneously  to  be  repaired  ? 
Surely  no  more  than  if  the  stroke  had  been  in  vision.  The 
law  of  nature  forbids  all  injury  to  his  fellow- creature.  And 
was  he  injured,  who,  by  being  thus  highly  honoured  in  becom- 
ing the  representative  of  the  Son  of  God,  was  to  share  with 
Abraham  in  the  rewards  of  his  obedience  1  But  though,  as 
we  see,  Abraham  could  have  no  struggles  with  himself  from 
any  doubts  that  he  violated  morality  in  papng  obedience  to 
the  command,  yet  did  the  merit  of  that  obedience  deserve  all 
the  encomiums  given  to  it  in  Holy  Writ ;  for,  in  expressing 
his  extreme  readiness  to  obey,  he  declared  a  full  confidence  in 
the  promises  of  God. 

BISHOP  HORSLEY. 

Samuel  Horsley  was  the  son  of  the  vicar  of  St  Martln's-in- 
the-Fields,  London,  and  was  born  in  its  parsonage,  October 
1733.  Having  received  from  his  father  his  elementary  educa- 
tion, he  went  to  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge,  and  became  an  ear- 
nest and  successful  student  of  the  classics,  and  still  more  of 
mathematics.  In  1759  he  became  rector  of  Newington  Butts, 
in  Surrey,  and  in  1777  he  was  appointed  domestic  chaplain  to 
Dr  Lowth,  the  new  bishop  of  London.  In  1788  he  became 
bishop  of  St  David's,  in  1793  was  translated  to  the  see  of 
Rochester,  and  finally,  in  1802,  to  that  of  St  Asaph.  He  died 
at  Brighton,  October  4,  180G. 


HORSLEY.  87 

Of  tliG  scientific  world  Dr  Horsley  deserved  well,  as  the 
secretary  of  the  Eoyal  Society,  and  the  editor  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton's  Works,  an  edition  of  wliich  he  brought  out,  in  five 
quarto  volumes,  in  178-5.  But  as  a  theologian  and  a  biblical 
scholar,  his  fame  will  be  still  more  abiding.  To  that  noblest 
field  of  investigation  he  carried  powers  and  acquirements  such 
as  are  seldom  united  in  any  single  mind.  He  was  a  thorough 
scholar,  and  was  entirely  at  home  in  the  Greek  and  Hebrew 
languages.  As  a  mathematician  accustomed  to  exact  and  con- 
tinuous thought,  his  ardent  temperament  clothed  in  vivid  and 
impassioned  language  the  strictest  argument,  and  enforced  by 
fervid  practical  appeals  the  longest  and  most  laborious  deduc- 
tions; whilst  his  good  taste  saved  him  from  those  inordinate 
exhibitions  of  dialectic  skill  or  professional  erudition  w^hich 
sometimes  make  learning  repulsive,  and  reduce  logic  to  pedantry. 
As  a  controversialist,  he  was  no  doubt  habitually  keen,  and  too 
frequently  acrimonious ;  but  no  one  will  allege  that  his  arro- 
gance was  the  bluster  of  cowardice  concealing  its  weakness; 
and  for  his  occasional  roughness,  if  we  cannot  find  a  suflicient 
compensation  in  his  intrinsic  kind-heartedness,  we  can  find 
more  than  ordinary  provocation  in  the  style  and  spirit  of  some 
of  his  opponents. 

To  the  cause  of  Trinitarian  orthodoxy  Horsley,  whilst  arch- 
deacon of  St  Alban's,  rendered  signal  service  by  his  trium- 
phant reply  to  Priestley's  "  Corruptions  of  Christianity."  Fol- 
lowed up  as  his  "Letters  to  Dr  Priestley"  have  been  by  the 
works  of  Magee,  Pye  Smith,  Wardlaw,  Moses  Stuart,  and  Bur- 
ton, that  controversy  may  now  be  regarded  as  exhausted  and 
ended.  By  his  "  Hosea,"  and  by  his  posthumous  and  unfinished 
"  Translation  of  the  Psalms,"  he  has  added  materially  to  our 
stores  of  sacred  criticism.  But  the  contribution  to  religious 
literature  on  wdiich  we  believe  that  his  fame  rests  most  securely, 
and  by  which  he  is  likely  to  be  longest  remembered,  is  his 
Sermons.     They  completely  differ  from  ordinary  pulpit  dis- 


88  TJlEOLOlilANS. 

courses.  For  the  most  part  they  arc  eloquent  treatises,  ex- 
pounding some  difficult  passage,  or  unfolding  some  important 
theological  principle ;  and  although  their  warmth  and  vivacity 
may  have  secured  the  attention  of  an  unlearned  auditory,  and 
although  their  singular  perspicuity  may  have  made  it  easy  for 
ordinary  attention  to  follow,  most  of  them  are  sermons  more 
adapted  to  readers  than  hearers,  and  none  but  accomplished 
di\-ines  can  ai:>preciate  their  entire  force  and  originality. 

STfje  HortJ  route  to  ^}i^  ^Temple. 

There  are  three  particular  passages  of  His  life  in  v.'hich  this 
prophecy '"'  appears  to  have  been  more  remarkably  fulfilled,  and 
the  character  of  the  Lord  coming  to  His  temple  more  e^ddently 
displayed  in  Him.  The  first  was  in  an  early  period  of  His 
ministry ;  when,  going  up  to  Jerusalem  to  celebrate  the  pas- 
sover,  He  found  in  the  temple  a  market  of  live  cattle,  and 
bankers'  shops,  where  strangers  who  came  at  this  season  from 
distant  countries  to  Jerusalem  were  accommodated  with  cash 
for  their  l)ills  of  credit.  Fired  with  indignation  at  this  daring 
profanation  of  His  Father's  house.  He  oversets  the  accounting- 
tables  of  the  bankers,  and  with  a  light  whip  made  of  rushes 
He  drives  these  irreligious  traders  from  the  sacred  precincts. 
IIe}e  was  a  considerable  exertion  of  authority.  However,  on 
this  occasion  He  claimed  not  the  temple  expressly  for  His 
own;  He  called  it  His  Father's  house,  and  ajipeared  to  act 
only  as  a  son. 

He  came  a  second  time  as  Lord  to  His  temple,  much  more 
remarkably,  at  the  feast  of  tabernacles;  when,  "in  the  last 
day,  that  great  day  of  the  feast,  he  stood  in  the  temple,  and 
cried,  saying,  If  any  man  thirst,  let  him  come  unto  me  and 
drink.  He  that  believeth  on  me,  out  of  his  belly  shall  flow 
rivers  of  living  water."  That  you  may  enter  into  the  full 
sense  and  spirit  of  this  extraordinary  exclamation,  it  is  neccs- 
■"'  Maluclii  iii.  1. 


FEAST  OF  TABERNACLES.  89 

sary  that  you  should  know  hi  what  the  silly  multitudes  to  whom 
it  was  addressed  were  probably  employed  at  the  time  when  it 
was  uttered.  And  for  this  purpose,  I  must  give  you  a  brief 
and  general  account  of  the  ceremonies  of  that  last  day,  the 
great  day  of  the  feast  of  tabernacles ;  the  ceremonies,  not  the 
original  ceremonies  appointed  by  Moses,  but  certain  supersti- 
tious ceremonies  which  had  been  added  by  the  later  Jews. 
The  feast  of  tabernacles  continued  eight  days.  At  what  pre- 
cise time  I  know  not,  but  at  some  part  of  the  interval  between 
the  prophets  and  the  birth  of  Christ,  the  priests  had  taken  up 
a  practice  of  marching  daily  during  the  feast  round  the  altar 
of  burnt-offerings,  waving  in  their  hands  the  branches  of  the 
palm,  and  singing,  as  they  went,  "  Save,  we  pray,  and  prosper 
us  ! "  This  was  done  but  once  on  the  first  seven  days ;  but 
on  the  eighth  and  last  it  was  repeated  seven  times.  And 
when  this  ceremony  was  finished,  the  people,  with  extravagant 
demonstrations  of  joy  and  exultation,  fetched  buckets  of  water 
from  the  fountain  of  Siloam,  and  presented  them  to  the  priests  in 
the  temple,  who  mixed  the  water  with  the  wine  of  the  sacrifices, 
and  poured  it  upon  the  altar,  chanting  all  the  while  that  text 
of  Isaiah — "  With  joy  shall  ye  draw  water  from  the  fountain 
of  salvation."  The  fountain  of  salvation,  in  the  language  of  a 
prophet,  is  the  Messiah ;  the  water  to  be  drawn  from  that 
fountain  is  the  water  of  His  Spirit.  Of  this  mystical  meaning 
of  the  water,  the  inventors  of  these  superstitious  rites,  whoever 
they  might  be,  seem  to  have  had  some  obscure  discernment, 
although  they  understood  the  fountain  literally  of  the  fountain 
of  Siloam ;  for,  to  encourage  the  people  to  the  practice  of  this 
laborious  superstition,  they  had  persuaded  them  that  this  rite 
was  of  singular  efficacy  to  draw  down  the  prophetic  spirit. 
The  multitudes  zealously  busied  in  this  unmeaning  ceremony 
were  they  to  whom  Jesus  addressed  that  emphatical  exclama- 
tion— "  If  any  man  thirst,  let  him  come  unto  me  and  drink." 
The  first  words,  "  if  any  man  thirst,'"  are  ironical.     "  Are  ye 

h2 


90  TllEOLOeilANS. 

faniisliecl,"  says  He,  "  with  thirst,  that  ye  ftitigne  yourselves  with 
fetchhig  all  this  water  up  the  hill  ?  Oh !  but  ye  thirst  for  the  pure 
waters  of  Siloam,  the  sacred  brook  that  rises  in  the  mountain 
of  God,  and  is  devoted  to  the  purification  of  the  temi)le  !  Are 
ye  indeed  athirst  for  these  ?  Come,  then,  unto  Me,  and  drink  : 
I  am  i\[&fGuntain  of  which  that  which  purifies  the  temple  is 
the  type  :  /  am  the  fountain  of  salvation  of  which  your  pro- 
phet spake  :  From  Me  the  true  believer  shall  receive  the  living 
water, — not  in  scanty  draughts  fetched  witli  toil  from  this 
penurious  rill,  but  in  a  well  perpetually  springing  up  within 
Mm."  The  words  of  Isaiah  which  I  have  told  you  the  priests 
were  chanting,  and  to  which  Jesus  alludes,  are  part  of  a  song 
of  praise  and  triumph  which  the  ftiithful  are  supposed  to  use 
in  that  prosperous  state  of  the  Church,  Avhich,  according  to  the 
prophet,  it  shall  finally  attain  under  Jesse's  Root.  "  In  that 
day  shalt  thou  say,  Behold,  God  is  my  salvation  :  I  will  trust, 
and  not  be  afraid ;  for  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  my  strength  and 
song,  he  also  is  become  my  salvation  :  therefore  v/itli  joy  shall 
ye  draw  water  out  of  the  wells  of  salvation."  Consider  these 
words  as  they  lie  in  the  context  of  the  prophet ;  consider  the 
occasion  upon  which  Jesus,  standing  in  the  temj^le,  applies 
them  to  Himself ;  consider  the  sense  in  which  He  applies  them ; 
and  judge  whether  this  ajjplication  was  less  than  an  open  claim 
to  be  the  Lord  Jehovah  come  unto  His  temple.  It  is  remark- 
able that  it  had  at  the  time  an  immediate  and  w^onderful  effect. 
^-  Many  of  the  people,  when  they  heard  this  saying,  said,  Of  a 
truth  this  is  the  i^yophet.""  The  light  of  truth  burst  at  once 
ujion  theu'  minds.  Jesus  no  sooner  made  the  application  of 
this  abused  prophecy  to  Himself,  than  they  perceived  the  just- 
ness of  it,  and  acknowledged  in  Him  the  fountain  of  salvation. 
What  would  these  people  have  said  had  they  had  our  light  ? 
had  the  whole  volume  of  prophecy  been  laid  before  them,  with 
the  history  of  Jesus  to  comj^are  with  it  ?  Would  they  not 
have  proceeded  in  the  prophet's  triumphant  song — "  Cry  out 


THE  LAST  PASSOV^EIL  91 

and  shout,  O  daughter  of  Zion  !  Great  is  the  Holy  One  of 
Israel  in  the  midst  of  thee  ! "  This,  then,  I  take  to  be  the 
second  particular  occasion  in  the  life  of  Jesus  in  which  Malachi's 
Ijrediction,  "  that  the  Lord  should  come  to  His  temple,"  was 
fulfilled  in  Him, — when  Jesus,  in  the  last  day  of  the  feast  of 
tabernacles,  stood  in  the  temple  and  declared  Himself  the  person 
intended  by  Isaiah  under  the  image  of  the  "  Fountain  of  salva- 
tion.'" For  by  appropriating  the  character  to  Himself,  He 
must  be  understood  in  effect  to  claim  all  those  other  characters 
which  Isaiah  hi  the  same  prophecy  ascribes  to  the  same  person, 
which  are  these  :  ''  God,  the  salvation  of  Israel ;  the  Lord 
Jehovah,  his  strength  and  his  song ;  the  Lord,  that  hath  done 
excellent  tilings ;  the  Holy  One  of  Israel." 

A  third  time  Jesus  came  still  more  remarkably  as  the  Lord 
to  His  temple,  when  He  came  up  from  Galilee  to  celebrate  the 
last  passover,  and  made  that  public  entry  at  Jerusalem  which 
is  described  by  all  the  evangelists.  It  will  be  necessary  to 
enlarge  upon  the  particulars  of  this  interesting  story ;  for  the 
right  understanding  of  our  Saviour's  conduct  upon  this  occa- 
sion depends  so  much  upon  seeing  certain  leading  circum- 
stances in  a  proper  light  —  upon  a  recollection  of  ancient 
l)rophecies,  and  an  attention  to  the  customs  of  the  Jewish 
people — that  I  am  apt  to  suspect  few  now-a-days  discern  in  this 
extraordinary  transaction  what  was  clearly  seen  in  it  at  the 
time  by  our  Lord's  disciples,  and  in  some  measure  understood 
by  His  enemies.  I  shall  present  you  with  an  orderly  detail  of 
the  story,  and  comment  upon  the  particulars  as  they  arise; 
and  I  doubt  not  but  that,  by  God's  assistance,  I  shall  teach 
you  to  perceive,  in  tliis  public  entry  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  (if 
you  have  not  perceived  it  before),  a  conspicuous  advent  of  the 
Great  Jehovah  to  His  temple.  Jesus,  on  His  last  journey  from 
Galilee  to  Jerusalem,  stops  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Olivet,  and 
sends  two  of  His  disciples  to  a  neighbouring  village  to  provide 
an  ass's  colt  to  convey  Him  from  that  place  to  the  city,  distant 


92 


THEOLOGIANS. 


not  more  than  half  a  mile.  The  colt  is  brought,  and  Jesus  is 
seated  upon  it.  This  first  circumstance  must  be  well  consi- 
dered; it  is  the  key  to  the  whole  mystery  of  the  story. 
What  could  be  His  meaning  in  choosing  this  singular  convey- 
ance ?  It  could  not  be  that  the  fatigue  of  the  short  journey 
which  remained  was  likely  to  be  too  much  for  Him  afoot,  and 
that  no  better  animal  was  to  be  procured.  JSTor  was  the  ass, 
in  these  days  (though  it  had  been  in  earlier  ages),  an  animal  in 
high  esteem  in  the  East,  used  for  travelling  or  for  state  by 
persons  of  the  first  condition,  that  this  conveyance  should 
be  chosen  for  the  grandeur  or  propriety  of  the  appearance. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  coming  to  Jerasalem  upon  an 
ass's  colt  was  one  of  the  prophetical  characters  of  the  Mes- 
siah; and  the  great  singularity  of  it  had  perhaps  been  the 
reason  that  this  character  had  been  more  generally  attended 
to  than  any  other ;  so  that  there  was  no  Jew  who  was  not 
apprised  that  the  Messiah  was  to  come  to  the  holy  city  in  that 
manner.  "  Kejoice  greatly,  O  daughter  of  Zion  !  shout,  O 
daughter  of  Jerusalem  ! "  saith  Zechariah  :  "  Behold  thy  King 
c'ometh  unto  thee  !  He  is  just,  and  having  salvation  :  lowly, 
and  riding  upon  an  ass,  even  a  colt  the  foal  of  an  ass  ! "  And 
this  prophecy  the  Jews  never  understood  of  any  other  person 
than  the  Messiah.  Jesus,  therefore,  by  seating  Himself  upon 
the  ass's  colt  in  order  to  go  to  Jerusalem,  without  any  possible 
inducement  either  of  grandeur  or  convenience,  openly  declared 
Himself  to  be  that  King  who  was  to  come,  and  at  whose  com- 
ing in  that  manner  Zion  was  to  rejoice.  And  so  the  disciples, 
if  we  may  judge  from  what  immediately  followed,  understood 
this  proceeding;  for  no  sooner  did  they  see  their  Master 
seated  on  the  colt,  than  they  broke  out  into  transports  of  the 
highest  joy,  as  if  in  this  great  sight  they  had  the  full  content- 
ment of  their  utmost  wishes ;  conceiving,  as  it  should  seem, 
the  sanguine  hope  that  the  kingdom  was  this  instant  to  be 
restored  to  Israel.     They  strewed  the  way  which  Jesus  was  to 


THE  PROCESSION.  93 

pass  witli  the  green  brandies  of  the  trees  which  grcv/  beside 
it ;  a  mark  of  honour,  in  the  East,  never  paid  but  to  the 
greatest  emperors  on  occasions  of  the  highest  pomp.  They 
prochiimed  Him  the  long-expected  Heir  of  David's  throne, — 
the  Blessed  One  coming  in  the  name  of  the  Lord ;  that  is,  in 
the  language  of  Malachi,  the  Messenger  of  the  Covenant. 
And  they  rent  the  skies  with  the  exulting  acclamation  of 
"  Hosanna  in  the  liighest ! "  On  their  way  to  Jerusalem,  they 
are  met  l^y  a  great  multitude  from  the  city,  whom  the  tidings 
had  no  sooner  reached  than  they  ran  out  in  eager  joy  to  join 
His  triumph.  When  they  reached  Jerusalem,  the  whole  city, 
says  the  blessed  evangelist,  was  moved.  Here  recollect,  that 
it  was  now  the  season  of  the  passover.  The  passover  was  the 
highest  festival  of  the  Jemsh  nation,  tlie  anniversary  of  that 
memorable  night  when  Jehovah  led  His  armies  out  of  Egypt 
with  a  high  hand  and  an  extended  arm — "  a  night  much  to 
be  remembered  to  the  Lord  of  the  children  of  Israel  in  their 
generations;"  and  much,  indeed,  it  was  remembered.  The 
devout  Jews  flocked  at  this  season  to  Jerusalem,  not  only  from 
every  corner  of  Judea,  but  from  the  remotest  countries  whither 
God  had  scattered  them ;  and  the  numbers  of  the  strangers 
that  were  annually  collected  in  Jerusalem  during  this  festival 
are  beyond  imagination.  These  strangers,  who,  living  at  a 
distance,  knew  little  of  what  had  been  passing  in  Judea  since 
their  last  visit,  were  they  who  were  moved  (as  well  they  might 
be)  ^^ith  wonder  and  astonishment,  when  Jesus,  so  humble  in 
His  equipage,  so  honoured  in  His  numerous  attendants,  ap- 
peared within  the  city  gates ;  and  every  one  asks  his  neigh- 
bour, "  Who  is  this?"  It  was  replied  by  some  of  the  natives 
of  Judea — but,  as  I  conceive,  by  none  of  the  disciples ;  for 
any  of  them,  at  this  time,  would  have  given  another  answer — 
it  was  replied,  "  This  is  the  Nazarene,  the  great  prophet  from 
Galilee."  Through  the  throng  of  these  astonished  spectators 
the  procession  passed  by  the  public  streets  of  Jerusalem  to  the 


94  TiJEOLOGlANS. 

temple,  where  immediately  the  sacred  porticoes  resound  ^^'ith 
the  continued  hosaunas  of  the  multitudes.  The  chief  priests 
and  scribes  are  astonished  and  alarmed  ;  they  request  Jesus 
himself  to  silence  His  followers.  Jesus,  in  the  early  part  of 
His  ministry,  had  always  been  cautious  of  any  public  display 
of  personal  consequence ;  lest  the  malice  of  His  enemies  should 
be  too  soon  provoked,  or  the  unadvised  zeal  of  His  friends 
should  raise  civil  commotions.  But  now  that  His  work  on 
earth  was  finished  in  all  but  the  last  painful  part  of  it — iiovv 
that  He  had  firmly  laid  the  foundations  of  God's  Idngdom  in 
the  hearts  of  His  disciples — now  that  the  apostles  were  pre- 
pared and  instructed  for  their  office — now  that  the  days  of 
vengeance  on  the  Jewish  nation  were  at  hand,  and  it  mattered 
not  how  soon  they  should  incur  the  displeasure  of  the  Romans 
their  masters — Jesus  lays  aside  a  reserve  which  could  be  no 
longer  useful ;  and,  instead  of  checking  the  zeal  of  His  foUov/- 
ers.  He  gives  a  new  alarm  to  the  chief  priests  and  scribes,  by 
a  direct  and  firm  assertion  of  His  right  to  the  honours  that 
were  so  largely  shewn  to  Him.  "  If  these,"  says  He,  "  were 
silent,  the  stones  of  this  builduig  would  be  endued  with  a 
voice  to  proclaim  my  titles."  And  then,  as  on  a  former  occa- 
sion, He  drove  out  the  traders;  but  Avith  a  higher  tone  of 
authority,  calling  it  His  own  house,  and  saying,  "  My  house  is 
the  house  of  prayer ;  but  ye  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves." 
You  have  now  the  story,  in  all  its  circumstances,  faithfully 
collected  from  the  four  evangelists ;  notliing  exaggerated,  but 
set  in  order,  and,  perhaps,  somewhat  illustrated  by  an  applica- 
tion of  old  i:)rophecies  and  a  recollection  of  Jewish  customs. 
Judge  for  yourselves  whether  this  was  not  an  advent  of  the 
Lord  Jehovah  taking  personal  possession  of  His  temple. 

To  understand  this,  it  will  be  necessary  to   consider  the 
manner  of  our  Lord's  ai)pearance  to  His  disciples  after  His 


CIimST  BEFORE  HIS  CRUCIFIXION.  95 

resurrection.  We  shall  find,  even  in  His  interviews  with 
them,  no  trace  of  that  easy  familiarity  of  intercourse  which 
obtained  between  them  before  His  death,  when  He  condescended 
to  lead  His  whole  life  in  their  society,  as  a  man  living  with 
his  equals.  Had  the  history  of  His  previous  life  been  as 
mysteriously  obscure,  as  that  of  the  forty  days  between  the 
resurrection  and  ascension  is  in  many  circumstances ;  had  His 
previous  habits  been  as  studiously  reserved,  proof  would  in- 
deed have  been  wanting  that  He  had  ever  sustained  the 
condition  of  a  mortal  man,  and  the  error  of  the  Docetas,  who 
taught  that  He  was  a  man  in  appearance  only,  might  have 
been  universal.  But  the  truth  is,  that  the  scheme  of  redemp- 
tion required,  that  before  the  passion  the  form  of  the  servant 
should  be  predominant  in  the  Redeemer's  appearance;  that 
after  His  resurrection  the  form  of  God  should  be  conspicuous. 
Accordingly,  throughout  His  previous  life  His  manners  were 
gTave  but  unreserved,  serious  rather  than  severe ;  His  deport- 
ment highly  dignified,  but  unassuming ;  and  the  whole  course 
and  method  of  His  life  was  unconcealed,  and  it  appears  to 
have  been  the  hfe  of  a  man  in  every  circumstance.  He  had  a 
home  at  Capernaum,  where  He  lived  with  His  mother  and 
her  family,  except  when  the  stated  festivals  called  Him  to 
Jerusalem,  or  the  business  of  His  ministry  induced  Him  to 
visit  other  towns.  When  He  travelled  about  the  country  to 
propagate  His  doctrine  and  to  heal  those  that  were  vexed  of 
the  devil,  the  evangelical  history,  for  the  most  part,  informs 
us  whence  He  set  out  and  whither  He  went;  and  with  as 
much  accuracy  as  can  be  expected  in  such  compendious  com- 
mentaries as  the  Gospels  are,  we  are  informed  of  the  time  of  His 
departure  from  one  place,  and  of  His  arrival  at  another.  We 
can,  for  the  most  part,  trace  the  road  by  which  He  passed ; 
we  can  mark  the  towns  and  villages  which  He  touched  in  His 
way ;  and  in  many  instances  we  are  told,  that  in  such  a  place 
He  was  entertained  at  the  house  of  such  a  person.     Upon 


00  THEOLOniANF;. 

tliese  journeys  He  was  attended  by  the  twelve  and  other  dis- 
ciples, and  except  upon  one  or  two  very  extraordinary  occasions, 
He  travelled  along  mtli  tliem,  and  just  as  they  did.     Upon 
some  occasions  His  own  body  was  the  subject  of  His  miracu- 
lous power.     In  its  natural  constitution,  however,  it  was  plainly 
the  mortal  body  of  a  man.     It  suffered  from  inanition,  from 
fiitigue  and  external  violence,  and  needed  the  refection  of  food, 
of  rest,  and  sleep.     It  was  confined  by  its  gravity  to  the  earth's 
surface.     It  was  translated  from  one  place  to  another  by  a 
successive  motion  through  the  intermediate  space.     And  if  in  a 
few  instances,  and  upon  some  very  extraordinary  occasions,  it 
was  exempted  from  the   action  of  mechanical   powers,   and 
divested  of  its  physical  qualities  and  relations — as  when,  to 
escape  from  the  malice  of  a  rabble.  He  made  himself  invisible, 
and  when  He  walked  upon  a  stormy  sea — these  were  the  only 
instances  of  our  Lord's  miraculous  powers  in  His  own  person, 
which  no  more  indicate  a  preternatural  constitution  of  His 
body,  than  His  other  miracles  indicate  a  preternatural  consti- 
tution of  the  bodies  on  which  they  were  performed.     That  He 
walked  upon  the  sea  is  no  more  a  sign  of  an  uncommon  con- 
stitution of  His  own  body,  which  sunk  not,  than  of  the  water 
which  sustained  it.     In  every  circumstance,  therefore,  of  His 
life,  before  His  passion,  the  blessed  Jesus  ai)pcars  a  mortal 
man.     An  example  of  virtue  He  indeed  exhibited,  which  never 
other  man  attained.     But  the  example  was  of  human  virtues ; 
of  piety,  of  temperance,  of  benevolence,  and  of  whatever  in  the 
life  of  man  is  laudable.     Before  His  resurrection  it  was  in 
power  only,  and  in  knowledge,  that  He  shewed  liimself  divine. 
After  His  resurrection  the  change  is  wonderful,  insomuch 
that,  except  in  certain  actions  which  were  done  to  give  His 
disciples  proof  that  they  saw  in   Him  their  crucified  Lord 
arisen  from  the  grave,  He  seems  to  have  done  nothing  like  a 
conmion  man.     Whatever  was  natural  to  Him  before,  seems 
now  miraculous ;  what  was  before  miraculous  is  now  natural. 


CHEIST  AFTER  ITTS  rvEftL^EKECTION.  07 

The  change  first  appears  in  the  manner  of  His  resurrection. 
It  is  evident  that  Re  had  left  the  sepulchre  before  it  Avas 
opened.  An  angel,  indeed,  was  sent  to  roll  away  the  stone, 
but  this  was  not  to  let  the  Lord  out,  but  to  let  the  women  in. 
For  no  sooner  was  the  thing  done  than  the  angel  said  to  the 
women,  "  He  is  not  here,  he  is  risen ;  come  and  see  the  place 
where  the  Lord  lay."  St  Matthew's  women  saw  the  whole 
process  of  the  opening  of  the  sepulchre,  for  they  were  there 
before  it  was  opened.  They  felt  the  earthquake — they  saw 
the  angel  of  the  Lord  descend  from  heaven — they  saw  him 
roll  away  the  vast  stone  which  stopped  the  mouth  of  the 
sepulchre,  and,  with  a  threatening  aspect,  seat  himself  upon 
it  —  they  saw  the  sentinels  fall  down  petrified  with  fear. 
Had  the  Lord  been  waiting  within  the  tomb  for  the  removal 
of  the  stone,  whence  was  it  that  they  saw  Him  not  walk  out  ? 
If  He  had  a  body  to  be  confined,  He  had  a  body  to  be  actually 
\dsible ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  supposed,  that  with  or  without  the 
heavenly  guard  which  now  attended  Him,  He  was  in  fear  of 
being  taken  by  the  sentinels  and  put  a  second  time  to  death, 
that  for  His  security  He  should  render  himself  invisible.  But 
He  was  already  gone.  The  huge  stone,  which  would  have 
barred  their  entrance,  had  been  no  bar  to  His  escape. 

With  the  manner  of  leaving  the  sepulchre.  His  appearances, 
first  to  the  women,  afterwards  to  the  apostles,  correspond. 
They  were  for  the  most  part  unforeseen  and  sudden ;  nor  less 
suddenly  he  disappeared.  He  w\as  found  in  company  without 
coming  in.  He  was  missing  again  without  going  away.  He 
joined,  indeed,  the  two  disciples  on  the  road  to  Emmaus,  like 
a  traveller  passing  the  same  way ;  and  He  walked  along  with 
them,  in  order  to  prepare  them  by  His  conversation  for  the 
evidence  which  they  were  to  receive  of  His  resurrection.  But 
no  sooner  was  the  discovery  made,  by  a  peculiar  attitude  which 
He  assumed  in  the  breaking  of  bread,  than  He  disappeared 
instantaneously.     The  same  evening  He  presented  Himself  to 

VOL.  IV.  I 


98  THEOLOGIANS. 

the  apostles,  at  a  late  hour,  assembled  in  a  room  with  the  door 
shut ;  that  is,  made  fast  up  with  bolts  and  bars,  for  fear  of  a 
visit  from  the  unbelieving  Jews,  their  persecutors.  To  Him  who 
had  departed  from  the  uno2)ened  sepulchre  it  was  no  difficulty 
to  enter  the  barricaded  chamber.  From  all  these  circumstances, 
it  is  evident  that  His  body  had  undergone  its  change.  The 
corruptible  had  put  on  incormption.  It  was  no  longer  the 
body  of  a  man  in  its  mortal  state ;  it  was  the  body  of  a  man 
raised  to  life  and  immortality,  which  was  now  mysteriously 
united  to  divinity.  And  as  it  was  by  miracle  that,  before  His 
death.  He  walked  upon  the  sea,  it  was  now  by  miracle  that, 
for  the  conviction  of  the  apostles,  He  shewed  in  His  person 
the  marks  of  His  sufferings. 

Consonant  with  this  exaltation  of  His  human  nature  was 
the  change  in  the  manner  of  His  life.  He  was  repeatedly  seen 
by  the  disciples  after  His  resurrection ;  and  so  seen  as  to  give 
them  many  infallible  proofs  that  He  was  the  veiy  Jesus  who 
had  suffered  on  the  cross.  But  He  lived  not  with  them  in 
familiar  habits.  His  time,  for  the  forty  days  preceding  His 
ascension,  was  not  spent  in  their  society.  They  knew  not  His 
goings  out  and  comings  in.  Where  He  lodged  on  the  evening 
of  His  resurrection,  after  His  visit  to  the  apostles,  we  read 
not ;  nor  were  the  apostles  themselves  better  informed  than 
we.  To  Thomas,  who  w^as  absent  when  our  Lord  a^^peared, 
the  report  of  the  rest  was  in  these  words,  "We  have  seen  the 
Lord."  That  was  all  they  had  to  say.  They  had  seen  Him, 
and  He  was  gone.  They  pretend  not  to  direct  Thomas  to  any 
place  where  he  might  find  Him  and  enjoy  the  same  sight.  None 
of  them  could  now  say  to  Thomas  as  Nathanael  once  said  to 
Philip,  "  Come  and  see."  On  the  journey  from  Jerusalem  to 
Galilee  He  was  not  their  companion — He  went  before  them. 
How  He  went  we  are  not  informed.  The  way  is  not  described. 
The  places  are  not  mentioned  through  which  He  passed. 
Their  names  are  not  recorded  who  accompanied  Him  on  the 


ABRAHAM  TUCKER.  99 

road,  or  who  entertained  Him.  The  disciples  were  commanded 
to  rejDair  to  Galilee.  They  were  not  told  to  seek  Hun  at 
Capernaum,  His  former  residence,  or  to  inquire  for  Him  at 
His  mother's  house.  They  were  to  assemble  at  a  certain  hill. 
Thither  they  repaired ;  they  met  Him  there,  and  there  they 
worshipped  Him.  The  place  of  His  abode  for  any  single 
night  of  all  the  forty  days  is  nowhere  mentioned ;  nor,  from 
the  most  diligent  examination  of  the  story,  is  any  place  of  His 
abode  on  earth  to  be  assigned.  The  conclusion  seems  to  be, 
that  on  earth  He  had  no  longer  any  local  residence.  His  body 
requiring  neither  food  for  its  subsistence,  nor  a  lodging  for  its 
shelter  and  repose.  He  was  become  the  inhabitant  of  another 
region,  from  which  He  came  occasionally  to  converse  with  His 
disciples.  His  visible  ascension,  at  the  expiration  of  the  forty 
days,  being  not  the  necessary  means  of  His  removal,  but  a 
token  to  the  disciples  that  this  was  His  last  visit — an  evidence 
to  them  that  the  heavens  had  now  received  Him,  and  that  He 
was  to  be  seen  no  more  on  earth  with  the  corporeal  eye  till  the 
restitution  of  all  things. 

ABRAHAM  TUCKER. 

liegarding  this  remarkable  man,  no  information  can  now  be 
recovered  beyond  the  scanty  facts  compiled  by  his  descendant, 
Sir  H.  P.  St  John  Mildmay.  He  was  a  country  gentleman 
who  combined  with  rural  pursuits  a  taste  for  philosophy,  and 
a  large  amount  of  elegant  scholarship.  Born  at  London,  Sep- 
tember 2,  1705,  most  of  his  life  was  spent  at  Betchworth 
Castle  in  Surrey.  In  1754,  he  sustained  a  bitter  bereave- 
ment in  the  death  of  his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  tenderly 
attached,  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  it  was  as  a  refuge  from 
sorrow  that  he  had  recourse  to  the  composition  of  the  work 
with  which  liis  name  is  now  identified.  In  175G,  he  began  to 
write  down  his  thoughts  on  various  subjects,  metaphysical. 


100  THEOLOGIANS. 

moral,  and  religious.  Of  these,  a  first  instalment  appeared  in 
1765,  in  three  octavo  volumes,  under  the  title,  "  The  Light  oi 
Nature  Pursued.  By  Edward  Search,  Esq."  The  work  had 
grown  very  delightful  to  himself,  and  he  pursued  it  with  un- 
abated zeal  till  1771,  when,  owing  to  constant  application, 
followed  by  a  fever,  he  became  totally  blind.  Even  this  cala- 
mity did  not  quench  his  ardour.  He  invented  a  macliine  for 
guiding  his  hand  in  writing,  and  could  produce  a  manuscript 
so  legible  that  it  was  easily  transcribed  by  his  amanuensis. 
This  amanuensis  was  his  elder  daughter,  who,  with  loving 
devotion,  consecrated  her  whole  time  to  the  mitigation  of  his 
misfortune,  and  who,  besides  many  other  labours  of  love, 
learned  the  Greek  language,  that  he  might  not  altogether  lose 
his  intercourse  with  his  favourite  authors.  Mr  Tucker  died 
in  1774,  and  soon  afterwards  the  remainder  of  "  The  Light  of 
Nature"  appeared  in  four  additional  volumes. 

According  to  the  estimate  of  a  most  competent  judge,  our 
author  "  was  naturally  endowed,  not  indeed  with  more  than 
( )rdinary  acuteness  or  sensibility,  nor  with  a  high  degree  of 
reach  and  range  of  mind,  but  with  a  singular  capacity  for  care- 
ful observation  and  original  reflection,  and  with  a  fancy  per- 
haps unmatched  in  producing  various  and  hapjDy  illustration. 
The  most  observable  of  his  moral  qualities  appear  to  have 
been  prudence  and  cheerfulness,  good  nature  and  easy  temper. 
The  influence  of  his  situation  and  character  is  visible  in  his 
writings.  Indulging  his  own  tastes  and  fancies,  like  most 
English  squires  of  his  time,  he  became,  like  many  of  them,  a 
sort  of  humourist.  Hence  much  of  his  originality  and  inde- 
pendence ;  hence  the  boldness  with  which  he  openly  employs 
illustrations  from  homely  objects.  He  wrote  to  please  him- 
self more  than  the  public."  ■"' 

*  Sir  .Tames  Mackintosh's  "  Dissertation  on  the  Tro-ress  of  Ethical 
rhilosophy,"  p.  a86. 


PROVIDENCE.  101 


Proijiticnce. 


The  theory  of  universal  Providence  being  thus  established, 
let  us  proceed  to  examine  whether  there  is  not  evidence  of  it 
in  the  phenomena  of  nature.  If  God  had  thought  proper  to 
leave  anything  to  chance  or  necessity,  we  cannot  imagine 
othermse  than  that  He  would  have  so  ordered  His  plan  as 
that  those  blind  causes  should  not  interfere  to  disturb  or  alter 
it  in  any  part :  but  in  fact  we  find  events  so  interlaced  among 
one  another,  that  those  of  the  greatest  moment  often  depend 
upon  others  we  should  think  the  most  trifling,  and  unworthy 
regard.  The  causes  of  dearth  and  fertility  depend  upon  the 
vapours  and  little  particles  floating  about  in  the  air  :  plague, 
murrain,  and  many  distempers,  derive  from  the  same  sources  : 
therefore,  those  little  particles  must  have  their  commission 
when  and  where  and  in  what  quantities  to  flow,  or  health  and 
sickness,  abundance  and  famine,  might  overspread  the  earth 
■without  the  knowledge  or  intention  of  the  Almighty.  Winds 
and  weather  depend  upon  so  many  complicated  causes,  the 
action  of  the  Sun,  attraction  of  the  Moon,  situation  of  the 
mountains,  exhalations  from  the  ground,  that  no  human  science 
can  investigate  them ;  yet  how  often  has  the  scale  of  victory 
been  turned  by  a  particular  wind  blowing  dust  in  the  faces  of 
one  army  !  How  often  has  a  vanquished  fleet  been  saved  by 
a  favourable  gale  wafting  them  into  places. of  security  !  How, 
then,  can  we  say  God  giveth  victory,  unless  we  allow  Him  to 
take  cognizance  of  everything  conducive  thereto  1  For  though 
He  gave  better  conduct  to  the  general,  and  greater  vigour  to 
the  soldiers  on  one  side,  these  advantages  might  be  overbalanced 
by  a  certain  temperature  in  the  air,  causing  it  to  move  this 
way  or  that. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  thought  enough  if  the  causes,  operating 
to  produce  tliis  temperature,  be  set  at  work  in  the  gross,  and 
that  it  is  no  matter  whether  a  few  more  or  less  particles  be 

i2 


102  THEOLOGIANS. 

employed,  nor  what  i)Iaces  or  girations  be  assigned  to  each 
particle  among  the  whole.  For  when  the  farmer  sows  his 
corn,  he  does  not  mind  the  exact  number  of  grains  he  takes 
up  at  each  time  into  his  hand,  nor  whether  any  two  of  them 
fall  the  tenth  of  an  inch  further  or  nearer  to  one  another. 
But  man  acts  b}^  the  gross  members  of  his  body,  to  which  he 
gives  an  impulse  by  one  operation  of  his  mind ;  and  when  he 
acts  upon  several  little  bodies,  the  motions  they  receive  depend 
l^artly  upon  their  figures,  magnitudes,  and  situations,  which 
arc  too  numerous  and  too  various  for  liim  to  observe.  Whereas 
God  acts  not  by  limbs  nor  by  external  stroke  or  pulsion  upon 
the  outside  of  a  mass,  but  by  actuating  the  comj^onent  parts, 
whereof  such  and  no  more  receive  such  and  none  other  impulse 
than  He  impresses  upon  them  :  for  He  pervades  and  is  present 
with  them  all,  nor  can  remain  ignorant  or  inobservant  of  what 
impulses  He  gives,  or  what  subsequent  motions  they  must 
necessarily  produce  by  their  mutual  action  upon  one  another. 

If  there  be  any  who  cannot  readily  comprehend  the  force 
of  this  argument,  let  them  turn  their  thoughts  to  such  inci- 
dents wherein  the  structure  of  particular  bodies,  and  position 
of  their  parts,  manifestly  give  the  turn  to  the  event.  Men 
have  been  killed  by  the  fall  of  boughs  from  trees  or  bricks 
from  buildings  as  they  passed  under,  but  had  the  fibres  of  the 
bough,  or  mortar  holding  the  bricks  together,  been  ever  so 
little  stronger  or  weaker,  or  the  least  particles  in  either  placed 
otherwise,  they  would  have  fallen  a  moment  sooner  or  later, 
and  the  lives  of  the  jiassengcrs  been  saved.  Some  have  been 
bitten  by  adders  whom  they  trod  upon  as  they  walked  along  : 
others  destroyed  by  swallowing  wasps  in  their  liquor  :  these 
owe  their  deaths  to  the  minute  causes  wliich  brought  the  wasp 
or  the  adder  to  that  particular  spot ;  nor  would  the  general 
laws  of  instinct  guiding  those  vermin  suffice  to  conduct  them 
unerringly  to  the  very  place  where  their  operation  was  wanted. 
There  have  been  persons  wiio  have  lost  their  lives  by  a  gun 


NO  RANDOM  .SHOTS.  lU3 

presented  against  them  in  play,  witliout  knowing  of  its  being 
loaded,  and  perhaps  after  having  tried  twenty  times  in  vain  to  let 
it  off  j  others  have  been  saved  by  a  pistol  flashing  in  the  pan : 
here  the  little  particles  of  rust  or  damps  among  the  powder 
must  be  exactly  adjusted  to  make  it  take  effect  at  the  destined 
instant,  and  not  before.  What  is  it  marks  out  the  path  of 
bullets  flying  about  in  an  engagement  1  The  strength  of  the 
powder,  the  manner  of  making  up  the  charge,  its  being  closer 
or  looser  rammed,  and  a  hair's  breadth  difference  of  position 
in  the  muzzle  from  whence  they  were  discharged,  will  cause 
them  to  miss  or  to  destroy  :  which  little  difference  may  arise 
from  inequalities  of  ground  the  soldier  stands  upon,  from  the 
manner  of  his  tread,  the  stiffness  of  his  clothes,  or  what  he  has 
eaten  or  drank  a  little  before.  Therefore  all  these  minute  cir- 
cumstances cannot  be  neglected,  even  if  we  will  suppose  God 
only  to  determine  how  many  shall  fall  in  battle  that  day,  but 
not  to  care  whether  John  or  Thomas  make  one  of  the  number. 
How  many  have  come  to  their  ends  by  sudden  quarrels  owing 
to  an  inadvertent  word,  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  or  an  expression 
misunderstood  !  AVhat  havoc  and  devastation  do  fires  make, 
occasioned  by  a  single  act  of  forgetfulness  or  heedlessness  ! 

It  can  scarce  be  doubted  that  the  tenor  of  every  man's  con- 
duct and  fortune  depends  very  much  upon  the  situation  where- 
into  he  was  thrown  at  his  birth,  the  natural  endowments 
and  dispositions  wherewith  he  was  born,  or  that  these  dejpend 
as  much  upon  the  2:)ersons  who  gave  him  birth,  as  theirs  did 
upon  those  from  whom  they  sprung  :  so  that  he  might  either 
not  have  been  born  at  all,  or  have  run  a  very  different  course 
of  life;  had  his  parents,  or  his  parents'  parents,  been  otherwise 
matched.  But  who  can  help  observing  what  trivial  causes, 
what  turns  of  humour,  whim,  and  fancy,  sometimes  bring 
people  together  ?  An  accidental  meeting,  a  ball,  or  an  enter- 
tainment, may  begin  the  accpiaintance ;  a  lucky  dress,  a  hand- 
some complunent,   or  a   lively  expression,  first   engage   the 


104  THEOLOGIANS. 

notice  ;  or  an  officious  old  woman  drop  a  word  that  shall  give 
the  preference.  Nor  do  the  consequences  of  such  fortuitous 
engagements  always  terminate  in  the  parties  or  their  children, 
or  children's  children,  but  may  spread  wide  among  the  human 
species  :  for  they  may  beget  a  genius  who  shall  invent  a  new 
art,  or  improve  some  useful  science,  or  produce  peculiar  talents 
fitted  to  make  a  politician  or  a  general,  who  shall  influence  the 
fate  of  nations.  Perhaps  the  Roman  commonwealth  might 
have  subsisted  longer,  or  the  empire  been  established  in  another 
family,  if  Caesar's  grandmother  had  worn  a  different  coloured 
ribbon  upon  such  a  certain  festival. 

Thus  we  see  the  scheme  of  great  events  can  never  be  so 
surely  laid  but  that  they  may  be  defeated  by  little  accidents, 
unless  these  likewise  be  taken  into  the  plan.  And  whoever 
will  take  pains  to  contemplate  the  whole  concurrence  of  causes 
contributing  to  govern  the  weightiest  affairs  of  mankind,  will 
find  many  inconsiderable  ones  among  them,  these  again  de- 
pending upon  others  as  minute,  and  so  growing  still  more 
numerous  and  complicated  the  further  he  goes  backward,  until 
perhaps  at  last  he  be  ready  to  believe  with  Plato  that  the 
whole  world  is  one  tissue  of  causes  and  effects,  wherein,  nearly 
or  remotely,  everything  has  an  influence  upon  everything. 
From  hence  we  may  conclude,  not  only  that  the  young  ravens 
are  fed,  and  the  lilies  of  the  field  arrayed  in  the  glory  of  Solo- 
mon, by  the  Divine  provision,  but  that  of  two  sparrows  which 
are  sold  for  a  farthing,  not  one  of  them  falleth  to  the  ground, 
not  a  hair  is  lost  out  of  the  number  upon  our  heads,  not  an 
atom  stirs  throughout  the  material  world,  nor  a  fancy  starts  up 
in  the  imagination  of  any  animal,  without  the  permission  or 
appointment  of  our  heavenly  Father. 

©omjs  all  for  tlje  C^lorg  of  ffiotr. 

It  remains  to  be  explained,  how  we  can  act  always  with 
intention  to  do  the  mil  of  God  without  having  Him  always 


DOING  ALL  i'Or.  THE  ULOKY  OF  GUD.  lO-J 

in  our  tliouglits,  or  how  can  we  pursue  an  end  without  hokl- 
ing  it  in  contemplation  during  every  step  of  the  pursuit ;  and 
this  we  may  quickly  learn  by  refxccting  on  the  narrowness  of 
our  own  comprehension,  which  is  seldom  capable  of  retaining 
the  whole  plan  of  a  design  while  attentive  to  the  measures 
requisite  for  completing  it.  If  we  may  pass  a  conjecture  upon 
the  blessed  spirits  above,  component  parts  of  the  mundane 
soul,  they  probably  never  lose  sight  of  their  Maker  for  a 
moment ;  because  their  understanding  is  so  large,  that  at  the 
same  glance  it  can  extend  to  the  attributes,  to  the  plan  of 
Providence  flowing  from  thence,  and  to  all  the  minute  objects 
requisite  for  their  direction  in  performing  the  parts  allotted 
them  in  the  execution  of  it ;  so  that,  while  busied  in  giving 
motion  to  little  particles  of  matter  for  carrying  on  the  courses 
of  nature,  they  can  discern  the  uses  of  what  they  do,  its  ten- 
dency to  uphold  the  stupendous  order  of  the  universe,  and 
happiness  of  the  creatures  wherein  God  is  glorified. 

But  our  understandings  are  far  less  capacious,  wherefore  our 
prospects  are  scanty ;  and  of  those  lying  within  our  compass 
there  is  only  one  small  spot  in  the  centre  that  we  can  discern 
clearly  and  distinctly,  so  are  forced  to  turn  our  eye  successively 
to  the  several  parts  of  a  scene  before  us  to  take  the  necessary 
guidance  for  our  measures.  When  we  have  fixed  upon  the 
means  requisite  for  effecting  a  purpose,  our  whole  attention  to 
them  is  often  little  enough  to  carry  us  through  in  the  prosecu- 
tion ;  and  were  we  perpetually  to  hold  the  purpose  in  contem- 
plation, it  must  interrupt  and  might  utterly  defeat  its  own 
accomplishment.  He  that  travels  to  London  must  not  keep 
Ids  eye  continually  gazing  upon  Paul's  steeple,  nor  his  thoughts 
ruminating  upon  the  business  he  is  to  do,  or  pleasures  he  is  to 
take  there  ;  he  must  mind  the  road  as  he  goes  along,  he  nmst 
look  for  a  good  inn,  and  take  care  to  order  accommodations 
and  refreshments  for  himself  and  his  horse.  But  whatever 
steps  we  take  in  prosecution  of  some  end,  are  always  ascribed 


106  THEOLOGIANS. 

thereto  as  to  their  motive ;  and  we  are  said,  in  common  pro- 
priety of  speech,  to  act  all  along  with  intention  to  gain  onr  end, 
though  we  have  it  not  every  moment  in  view.  So,  if  our  tra- 
veller come  to  town  upon  a  charitable  design  to  succour  some 
family  in  affliction  or  distress  by  liis  counsel,  his  company,  his 
labours,  his  interest,  or  any  other  seasonable  assistance,  his 
whole  journey  and  every  part  of  it,  while  inquiring  the  way, 
while  bustling  through  a  crowd,  while  baiting  at  the  inn,  was 
an  act  of  charity  performed  with  a  benevolent  intention. 

In  like  manner,  whatever  schemes  we  lay  out  upon  the 
principle  of  glorifying  God  by  promoting  the  happiness  of  His 
creatures  or  any  one  of  them,  whether  they  lead  us  to  the  care 
of  our  health,  or  our  properties,  to  common  business,  or  re- 
creation, we  may  be  truly  and  properly  said  to  act  with  inten- 
tion to  His  will,  though  during  the  prosecution  we  should  be 
totally  immersed  in  worldly  concerns,  and  taken  up  with  sen- 
sible objects. 

When  busied  in  my  chapters,  labouring  to  trace  the  mazes 
of  Providence,  and  shew  that,  in  the  severest  dispensations, 
they  never  terminate  upon  evil,  how  defective  soever  the  per- 
formance, the  intention  seems  to  be  good ;  after  toiling  av/hile, 
the  ideas  begin  to  darken,  the  mental  organs  to  grow  stiff, 
and  the  spirits  exhausted ;  I  then  j^erceive  the  best  thing 
I  can  do  for  proceeding  on  my  work,  is  to  lay  in  a  fresh  stock 
by  some  exercise  or  diversion,  which  may  enable  me  to  resume 
the  microscope  and  telescope  with  recruited  vigour.  So  I 
sally  forth  fi-om  my  cavern  in  quest  of  any  little  amusement 
that  may  offer — perhaps  there  is  an  exhibition  of  pictures ;  I 
gaze  round  like  Cymon  at  Iphigenia,  with  such  judgment  as 
uninstructed  nature  can  supply — I  meet  with  my  acquaint- 
ance ;  one,  being  a  connoisseur  in  painting,  entertains  me  with 
criticisms  founded  upon  the  rules  of  art,  which  come  in  at  one 
ear  and  go  out  at  the  other  ;  others  tell  me  of  the  weather,  of 
general  warrants,  of  a  very  clever  political  pamphlet,  a  rhapsody 


AN  ALLEGORY.  107 

of  Rousseau's,  or  a  slanderous  poem,  wliicli,  because  I  am  a 
studious  man  and  a  lover  of  wit,  they  recommend  to  my 
perusal ; — I  endeavour  to  join  in  the  conversation  as  well  as 
my  penury  of  fashionable  materials  will  permit,  and  cut  such 
jokes  as  I  can  to  enliven  it.  If  an  interval  happens  wherein 
there  is  nothing  to  engage  my  senses,  presently  the  mundane 
soul,  and  links  of  connexion  forming  the  general  interest,  will 
be  attempting  to  intrude  upon  me  ;  but  I  shut  them  out  with 
might  and  main,  for  fear  they  should  draw  off  the  supply  of 
spirits  as  fast  as  it  comes  in ;  for  recreation  is  now  my  busi- 
ness, and  the  sublimest  idea  which  might  draw  on  a  labour  of 
thought  would  defeat  my  purpose.  Nevertheless,  while  en- 
gaged in  this  series  of  trifles,  am  I  not  pursuing  my  mam  in- 
tention, even  in  the  very  efforts  made  for  thrusting  it  out  of 
my  sight  1  and  if  my  first  design  bore  any  reference  to  the 
Divine  glory,  may  not  I  be  said,  without  impropriety,  still  to 
act  for  the  same  end  more  effectually  than  if  I  had  passed  the 
time  in  thought-straining  fervours  of  prayer  and  devotion  ? 

'^zn&m  anti  Pagsi'on. 

If  we  take  the  matter  figuratively,  this  diversity  of  persons 
may  serve  aptly  enough  to  express  the  disordered  condition  of 
human  nature,  wherein  reason  and  passion  perpetually  struggle, 
resist,  and  control  one  another.  The  metaphor  employed  by 
Plato  was  that  of  a  charioteer  driving  his  pair  of  horses,  by 
which  latter  he  allegorised  the  concupiscible  and  irascible 
passions ;  but  as  we  have  now-a-days  left  off  driving  our  own 
chariots,  but  keep  a  coachman  to  do  it  for  us,  I  think  the 
mind  may  be  more  commodiously  compared  to  a  traveller 
riding  a  single  horse,  wherein  reason  is  represented  by  the 
rider,  and  imagmation  with  all  its  train  of  opinions,  appetites, 
and  habits,  by  the  beast.  Everybody  sees  the  horse  does  all 
the  work ;  the  strength  and  speed  requisite  for  performing  it 


108  THEOLOGIANS. 

are  liis  own ;  lie  carries  his  master  along  every  step  of  the 
journey,  directs  the  motion  of  his  own  legs  in  walking,  trotting, 
galloping,  or  stepping  over  a  rut,  makes  many  by-motions,  as 
whisking  the  flies  with  his  tail  or  playing  with  his  bit,  all  by 
his  own  instinct ;  and  if  the  road  lie  plain  and  open  without 
bugbears  to  affright  him  or  rich  pasture  on  either  hand  to 
entice  him,  he  will  jog  on,  although  the  reins  were  laid  upon 
his  neck,  or  in  a  well-acquainted  road  will  take  the  right  turn- 
ings of  his  own  accord.  Perhaps  sometimes  he  may  prove 
startish  or  restive,  turning  out  of  the  way,  or  running  into  a 
pond  to  drink,  maugre  all  endeavours  to  prevent  him;  but 
this  depends  greatly  upon  the  discipline  he  has  been  used  to. 
The  office  of  the  rider  lies  in  putting  his  horse  into  the  proper 
road,  and  the  pace  most  convenient  for  the  present  purpose, 
guiding  and  conducting  him  as  he  goes  along,  checking  him 
when  too  forward  or  spurring  him  when  too  tardy,  being  atten- 
tive to  his  motions,  never  dropping  the  whip  nor  losing  the 
reins,  but  ready  to  interpose  instantly  whenever  needful,  keep- 
ing firm  in  his  seat  if  the  beast  behaves  unruly,  observing 
what  passes  in  the  way,  the  condition  of  the  ground,  and 
bearings  of  the  country,  in  order  to  take  directions  there- 
from for  his  proceeding.  But  this  is  not  all  he  has  to 
do,  for  there  arc  many  things  previous  to  the  journey;  he 
must  get  his  tackling  in  good  order,  bridle,  spurs,  and  other 
accoutrements;  he  must  learn  to  sit  well  in  the  saddle,  to 
understand  the  ways  and  temper  of  the  beast,  get  acquainted 
with  the  roads,  and  inure  himself  by  practice  to  bear  long 
journeys  without  fatigue  or  galhng;  he  must  provide  pro- 
vender for  his  horse,  and  deal  it  out  in  proper  quantities ;  for 
if  weak  and  jadisli,  or  pampered  and  gamesome,  he  will  not 
perform  the  journey  well :  he  must  have  him  well  broke,  taught 
all  his  paces,  cured  of  starting,  stumbling,  running  away,  and 
all  skittish  or  sluggash  tricks,  trained  to  answer  the  bit  and  be 
obedient  to  the  word  of  command.     If  he  can  teach  him  to 


CONYERS  MIDDLETON.  109 

canter  whenever  there  is  a  smooth  and  level  turf,  and  stop 
when  the  ground  lies  rugged,  of  his  own  accord,  it  will  contri- 
bute to  make  riding  easy  and  pleasant ;  he  may  then  enjoy  the 
prospects  around,  or  think  of  any  business  without  interruption 
to  his  progress.  As  to  the  choice  of  a  horse,  our  rider  has  no 
concern  with  that,  but  must  content  himself  with  such  as 
nature  and  education  have  put  into  his  hands  :  but  since  the 
spirit  of  the  beast  depends  much  upon  the  usage  given  him, 
every  prudent  man  will  endeavour  to  proportion  that  spirit  to 
his  own  strength  and  skill  in  horsemanship  ;  and  according  as 
he  finds  himself  a  good  or  bad  rider,  will  wish  to  have  his 
horse  sober  or  mettlesome.  For  strong  passions  work  wonders 
where  there  is  a  stronger  force  of  reason  to  curb  them ;  but 
where  this  is  weak  the  appetites  must  be  feeble  too,  or  they 
will  lie  under  no  control. 

DK  CONYERS  MIDDLETON. 

CoNYERS  MiDDLETON  was  born  in  1683,  at  Hinderwell,  in 
Yorkshire,  where  his  father  was  rector.  At  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  he  received  that  education  which  placed  him  among 
the  most  polished  classical  scholars  of  last  century,  and  of 
which,  in  1741,  he  gave  the  world  an  enduring  memorial  in 
his  charming  "  Life  of  Cicero."  It  is  to  be  feared  that  his 
clerical  profession  was  little  in  unison  with  his  personal  taste 
and  private  convictions ;  at  least,  there  is  in  his  correspond- 
ence a  tone  of  levity  and  religious  indifference,  which  prevents 
us  from  regretting  that  his  preferment  was  academical  rather 
than  ecclesiastical.  He  was  Woodwardian  professor  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  afterwards  principal  librarian  of  the  University. 
He  died  at  his  estate  of  Hildersham,  July  28,  1750. 

The  greater  part  of  the  years  1724  and  1725,  Dr  Middle- 
ton  spent  in  Italy.  Some  time  after  his  return,  that  is,  in 
1729,  he  published,  "A  Letter  from  Eome,  shewing  the  exact 
conformity  between  Popery  and  Paganism ;  or,  the  Pveligion  of 

VOL.  IV.  K 


110  THEOLOGIANS. 

the  present  Eomans  derived  from  that  of  .their  heathen  ances- 
tors." It  is  an  interesting  and  amusing  book.  Its  learning  is 
ample,  but  not  oppressive,  and  its  demonstration,  that  the 
Popish  ceremonies  are  nothing  more  nor  less  than  christened 
paganism,  is  abundantly  conclusive.  In  controversy,  a  book  of 
this  sort  answers  some  such  purpose  as  a  Congreve  rocket. 
Clever  and  mischievous,  it  may  cany  dismay  into  the  hostile 
squadrons,  but  its  efficacy  is  scarcely  in  proportion  to  the  com- 
motion which  it  creates.  It  is  seldom  by  such  means  that 
prejudice  is  disarmed,  or  that  sinners  are  converted  from  the 
error  of  their  ways. 

f^fllS  mater. 

The  next  thing  that  wiU  of  course  strike  one's  imagination, 
is  their  use  of  holy  water ;  for  nobody  ever  goes  in  or  out  of  a 
church,  but  is  either  sprinkled  by  the  priest,  who  attends  for 
that  purpose  on  solemn  days,  or  else  serves  himself  with  it 
from  a  vessel,  usually  of  marble,  placed  just  at  the  door,  not 
unlike  to  one  of  our  baptismal  fonts.  Now,  this  ceremony  is 
so  notoriously  and  directly  transmitted  to  them  from  Paganism, 
that  their  own  writers  make  not  the  least  scruple  to  own  it. 
The  Jesuit,  De  la  Cerda,  in  his  notes  on  a  passage  of  Virgil, 
where  this  practice  is  mentioned,  saya,  "  Hence  was  derived 
the  custom  of  holy  Church,  to  provide  purifying  or  holy  water 
at  'the  entrance  of  their  churches."  *  "  Aquaminarium  or 
Amula,"  says  the  learned  Montfaucon,  "  was  a  vase  of  holy 
water,  placed  by  the  heathens  at  the  entrance  of  their  temples, 
to  sprinkle  themselves  with."  f  The  same  vessel  was  by  the 
Greeks  called  UepLppavTrjpLov ;  two  of  which,  the  one  of  gold, 
the  other  of  silver,  were  given  by  Croesus  to  the  temple  of  Apollo 
at  Delphi ;  %  and  the  custom  of  sprinkling  themselves  was  so 

*  Spargens  rore  levi,  &c.— Vir^;.  Mn.  vl.  230. 
t  Vid.  Montfauc.  Antiquit.  t.  ii.  P.  i.  1.  iii.  c.  6. 
t  Ilerodot.  1.  i.  61.  Clem.  Alex.  Strom.  1.  i. 


HOLY  WATER.  Ill 

necessary  a  part  of  all  their  religious  offices,  that  the  method 
of  excommunication  seems  to  have  been  by  prohibiting  to 
offenders  the  approach  and  use  of  the  holy  water  pot.^  The 
very  composition  of  this  holy  water  was  the  same  also  among 
the  heathens,  as  it  is  now  among  the  Papists,  being  nothing 
more  than  a  mixture  of  salt  mth  common  water  ;t  and  the 
form  of  the  sprinkling-brush,  called  by  the  ancients  aspersorium 
or  aspergillum  (which  is  much  the  same  with  what  the  priests 
now  make  use  of)  may  be  seen  in  bas-reliefs,  or  ancient  coins, 
wherever  the  insignia  or  emblems  of  the  pagan  priesthood  are 
described,  of  which  it  is  generally  one.  % 

Platina,  in  his  Lives  of  the  Popes,  and  other  authors,  ascribe 
the  institution  of  this  holy  water  to  Pope  Alexander  the  First, 
who  is  said  to  have  lived  about  the  year  of  Christ  113  ;  but  it 
could  not  be  introduced  so  early,  smce,  for  some  ages  after,  we 
find  the  primitive  fathers  speaking  of  it  as  a  custom  purely 
heathenish,  and  condemning  it  as  impious  and  detestable. 
Justin  Martyr  says,  "that  it  was  invented  by  demons,  in 
imitation  of  the  true  baptism  signified  by  the  prophets,  that 
their  votaries  might  also  have  their  pretended  purifications  by 
water"  ;  and  the  emperor  Julian,  out  of  spite  to  the  Christians, 
used  to  order  the  victuals  in  the  markets  to  be  sprinkled  with 
holy  water,  on  purpose  either  to  starve,  or  force  them  to  eat 
what  by  their  own  principles  they  esteemed  poUuted.  § 

Thus  we  see  what  contrary  notions  the  Primitive  and  Rom- 
ish Church  have  of  this  ceremony :  the  first  condemns  it  as 
superstitious,  abominable,  and  irreconcilable  with  Christianity; 

*  Vid.  iEscliin.  Orat.  contra  Ctesiphon.  58. 

+  Porro  singulis  diebus  Dominicis  sacerdos  Missse  sacrum  facturus,  aquam 
sale  adspersam  benedicendo  revocare  debet,  eaque  populum  adspergere. 
Durant.  de  Rit.  1.  i.  c.  21. 

+  Vid.  Montfauc.  Antiq.  t.  ii.  p.  i.  1.  iii.  c.  6.  It  may  be  seen  on  a  silver 
coin  of  Julius  C»sar,  as  well  as  many  other  emperors.  Ant.  Agostini  dis- 
corso  sopra  le  Medaglie. 

§  Vid.  Hospinian.  de  Orig.  Templor.  1.  ii.  c.  25. 


112  THEOLOGIANS.   * 

the  latter  adopts  it  as  highly  edifying  and  applicable  to  the 
improvement  of  Christian  piety  :  the  one  looks  upon  it  as  the 
contrivance  of  the  devil  to  delude  mankind ;  the  other  as  the 
security  of  mankind  against  the  delusions  of  the  devil.  But 
what  is  still  more  ridiculous  than  even  the  ceremony  itself,  is 
to  see  their  learned  writers  gravely  reckoning  up  the  several 
%artues  and  benefits,  derived  from  the  use  of  it,  both  to  the 
soul  and  the  body ; '"'  and,  to  croAvn  all,  producing  a  long  roll 
of  miracles,  to  attest  the  certainty  of  each  virtue  which  they 
ascribe  to  it.  t  ^Yh.y  may  we  not  then  justly  apply  to  the  pre- 
sent people  of  Rome,  what  was  said  by  the  poet  of  its  old 
inhabitants,  for  the  use  of  this  very  ceremony  ? 

Ah  nimium  faciles,  qui  tristia  crimina  csedis 
Fluminea  tolli  posse  putetis  aqiul, ! — Ovid.  Fast.  ii.  45, 

Ah,  easy  Fools,  to  think  that  a  whole  flood 
Of  water  e'er  can  purge  the  stain  of  blood ! 

I  do  not  at  present  recollect  whether  the  ancients  went  so 
far  as  to  apply  the  use  of  this  holy  water  to  the  purifying  or 
blessing  their  horses,  asses,  and  other  cattle ;  or  whether  this 
be  an  improvement  of  modern  Rome,  which  has  dedicated  a 
yearly  festival  peculiarly  to  this  service,  called,  in  their  vulgar 
language,  the  benediction  of  horses;  which  is  always  celebrated 
with  much  solemnity  in  the  month  of  January ;  when  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  city  and  neighbourhood  send  up  their  horses, 
asses,  &c.,  to  the  convent  of  St  Anthony,  near  St  Mary  the 
Great,  where  a  priest,  in  surplice,  at  the  church  door,  sprinkles 
with  his  brush  all  the  animals  singly,  as  they  are  presented  to 
him,  and  receives  from  each  owner  a  gratuity  proportionable 

*  Durant.  de  Ritib.  1.  i.  c.  21.    It.  Hospin.  ibid. 

t  Hujus  aquoD  benedictse  virtus  variis  miraculis  illustratur,  &c.    Durant. 
bid. 


THE  BENEDICTION  OF  HORSES.  113 

to  his  zeal  and  ability."*  Amongst  the  rest,  I  had  my  own 
horses  blessed  at  the  expense  of  about  eighteenpence  of  our 
money ;  as  well  to  satisfy  my  own  curiosity,  as  to  humour  the 
coachman,  who  was  persuaded,  as  the  common  people  generally 
are,  that  some  mischance  would  befall  them  within  the  year,  if 
they  wanted  the  benefit  of  this  benediction.  Mabillon,  in 
giving  an  account  of  this  function,  of  which  he  happened  also 
to  be  an  eye-witness,  makes  no  other  reflection  upon  it,  than 
that  it  was  new  and  unusual  to  him. 

I  have  met,  indeed,  with  some  hints  of  a  practice,  not  foreign 
to  this,  among  the  ancients, — of  sprinkling  their  horses  with 
water  at  the  Circensian  Games ;  *  but  whether  this  was  done 
out  of  a  superstitious  view  of  inspiring  any  virtue,  or  purifying 
them  for  those  races,  which  were  esteemed  sacred ;  or  merely  to 
refresh  them  under  the  violence  of  such  an  exercise,  is  not  easy 
to  determine.  But  allowing  the  Komish  priests  to  have  taken 
the  hint  from  some  old  custom  of  paganism ;  yet  this,  how- 
ever, must  be  granted  them,  that  they  alone  were  capable  of 
cultivating  so  coarse  and  barren  a  piece  of  superstition  into  a 
revenue  sufficient  for  the  maintenance  of  forty  or  fifty  idle 
monks. 

*  Ma  ogni  sorte  d'animali  a  questo  santo  si  racommaiida ;  e  pero  nel  giorno 
della  sua  feste  sono  portate  molte  offerte  a  questa  sua  chiesa,  in  gratitudine 
delle  gratie  che  diversi  hanno  ottenute  da  lui  sopra  de'  loro  bestiami.  Rom. 
Modern.  Giorn.  vi.  c.  46.     Eione  de'  Monti. 

t  Vid.  Bubenii  Elect,  ii.  18. 


k2 


BIBLICAL  CRITICS  AND  EXPOSITORS. 

It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  a  more  delightful  employment  for 
taste,  scholarship,  and  piety,  than  that  converse  with  the 
Sacred  Text  which  constitutes  the  vocation  of  what  may  be 
called  Biblical  Criticism. 

Of  this  the  first  business  is  to  ascertain  what  the  Sacred 
Text  really  is,  comparing  the  readings  of  various  manuscripts, 
and  giving  the  modern  scholar,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the  auto- 
graph of  the  author,  or  of  his  amanuensis.  In  this  funda- 
mental department,  and  within  the  period  which  we  are  now 
reviewing,  two  Englishmen  acquired  great  distinction.  One 
of  these  was  Dr  John  Mill,  the  learned  Principal  of  St 
Edmund's  Hall,  who,  just  fourteen  days  before  his  death  in 
1707,  published  that  edition  of  the  Greek  Testament,  to  which 
he  had  devoted  thirty  years.  The  other  was  Dr  Benjamin 
Kennicott,  who,  in  1780,  completed  a  similar  task  of  twenty 
years,  and  gave  the  world  a  beautiful  and  elaborate  edition  of 
the  Hebrew  Scriptures. 

When  furnished  with  a  text  as  accurate  as  possible,  the  next 
problem  is  to  transfer  into  our  own  tongue  the  meaning.  For 
this  the  facilities  increase  as  sound  scholarsliip  continues  to 
advance,  and  as  new  light  is  thrown  on  the  natural  produc- 
tions and  the  usages  of  the  lands  in  which  the  Sacred  books 
were  -vmtten.  In  this  work  of  translation,  much  was  honour- 
ably achieved  by  divines  of  the  Church  of  England,  especially 
by  the  labours  on  the  poetical  and  prophetical  books  of  the  elder 
and  younger  Lowth,  and  of  Horsley,  Blayney  and  Newcome. 

But  even  after  the  English  student  is  in  possession  of  an 
accurate  version  of  an  accurate  text,  there  may  be  passages 
which,  owing  to  their  recondite  allusions  or  intricate  structure. 


BISHOP  LOWTH.  115 

baffle  his  comprehension.     The  discourse  may  be  elliptical ; 
its  progress  may  be  interrupted  by  digressions ;  the  idiom  may 
be  remote  from  western  habits  of  thought,  or  modern  ways  of 
speaking ;  the  metaphor  may  be  bold ;  the  style  may  be  too 
delicate  or  too  sublime  for  cursory  apprehension ;  and  it  is  the 
business  of  a  skilful  commentator  to   secure  justice  for  his 
author  in  these  respects,  at  the  hands  of  ordinary  readers. 
This  was  done  in  the  case  of  separate  books,  with  greater  or 
less  success,  by  a  multitude  of  expositors ;  and  on  the  Bible 
entire   the   eighteenth   century   produced  four   commentaries 
which  still  hold  a  place  in  the  theologian's  library.     One  of 
these  is  made  up  by  adding  "  Whitby's  Notes  on  the  New 
Testament,"  to  those  of  Bishop  Patrick  and  Dr  William  Lowth 
on  the  Old ;  and  betwixt  the  vigorous  sense  of  Patrick,  and 
the  scholarship  of  Lowth,  the  Old  Testament  portion  is  a  very 
valuable  contribution  to  our  stores  of  Scripture  interpretation. 
The  work  of  Matthew  Henry  has  already  been  noticed.     In 
the  middle  of  the  century,  it  was  followed  by  the  still  more 
copious  exposition  of  Dr  John  Gill,  the  Baptist  minister  of 
Horsleydown,  Southwark— a  work  abounding  in  Talmudical 
learning,  and  remarkable  for  its  sturdy  and  through-going  Cal- 
vinism.    This,  again,  towards  the  close  of  our  period,  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  w^ell-known  commentary  of  Thomas  Scott,  which, 
without  any  claim  to  originahty,  elegance,  or  genius,  has,  in 
virtue  of  its  serious  tone  and  its  faithful  effort  to  exhibit  the 
mind  of  God  in  His  Word,  superseded  in  many  a  household 
every  other  exposition. 

BISHOP  LOWTH. 

Robert  Lowth,  the  son  of  Dr  William  Lowth,  to  whose 
commentaries  on  the  prophetical  books  we  have  already  alluded, 
was  born  Nov.  27,  1710.  Educated  at  Winchester  School 
and  New  College,  Oxford,  he  early  displayed  a  rare  union  of 
classical  taste  and  poetical  power,  and  at  the  age  of  thirty-one 


116  BIBLICAL  CRITICS  AND  EXPOSITORS. 

was  elected  to  tlie  poetical  professorship.  In  that  chair  he 
delivered  in  Latin  those  Prelections  on  Hebrew  poetry,  which 
opened  up  a  new  and  delightful  field  of  investigation  to  those 
who,  loving  letters  much,  love  their  Bible  more.  Later  in 
life  he  was  raised  successively  to  the  bishoprics  of  St  David's, 
Oxford,  and  London.     He  died  Nov.  3,  1787. 

The  language  in  which  the  "Prelections"  were  written, 
would  prevent  us  from  giving  a  specimen,  if  they  had  not  been 
so  admirably  translated  by  Mr  Gregory.  It  would  have  been 
a  pity,  if  lectures  so  essentially  popular  had  remained  locked 
up  in  Latin. 

Pers0nitoti0n, 

It  would  be  an  infinite  task  to  specify  every  instance  in  the 
sacred  poems,  which  on  tliis  occasion  might  be  referred  to  as 
worthy  of  notice  ;  or  to  remark  the  easy,  the  natural,  the  bold 
and  sudden  personifications ;  the  dignity,  importance,  and  im- 
passioned severity  of  the  characters.  It  would  be  difiicult  to 
describe  the  energy  of  that  eloquence  which  is  attributed  to 
Jehovah  himself,  and  which  appears  so  suitable  in  all  respects 
to  the  Divine  Majesty ;  or  to  display  the  force  and  beauty  of 
the  language  which  is  so  admirably  and  peculiarly  adapted  to 
each  character ;  the  probability  of  the  fiction ;  and  the  excel- 
lence of  the  imitation.  One  example,  therefore,  must  suffice 
for  the  present ;  one  more  perfect  it  is  not  possible  to  produce. 
It  is  expressive  of  the  eager  expectation  of  the  mother  of 
Sisera,  from  the  inimitable  ode  of  the  prophetess  Deborah.* 

The  first  sentences  exhibit  a  striking  picture  of  maternal 
solicitude,  both  in  words  and  actions ;  and  of  a  mind  suspended 
and  agitated  between  hope  and  fear  : — 

"  Through  the  window  she  looked  and  cried  out, 
The  mother  of  Sisera,  through  the  lattice: 
Wherefore  is  his  chariot  so  long  in  coming  ? 
Wherefore  linger  the  wheels  of  his  chariot  ?  " 
*  Judges  V.  28-30. 


THE  SONG  OF  DEBORAH.  117 

Immediately,  impatient  of  his  delay,  she  anticipates  the  con- 
solations of  her  friends,  and  her  mind  being  somewhat  elevated, 
she  boasts,  with  all  the  levity  of  a  fond  female, — 

(Vast  in  her  hopes  and  g-iddy  with  success)  ; 

"  Her  wise  ladies  answer  her ; 
Yea,  she  returns  answer  to  herself : 
Have  they  not  found  ?    Have  they  not  divided  the  spoil  ?  " 

Let  us  now  observe,  how  well  adapted  every  sentiment,  every 
word  is,  to  the  character  of  the  speaker.     She  takes  no  account 
of  the  slaughter  of  the  enemy,  of  the  valour  and  conduct  of 
the  conqueror,  of  the  multitude  of  the  captives,  but 
"  Burns  with  a  female  thirst  of  prey  and  spoils." 

Nothing  is  omitted  which  is  calculated  to  attract  and  engage 
the  passions  of  a  vain  and  trifling  woman — slaves,  gold,  and 
rich  apparel.  Nor  is  she  satisfied  with  the  bare  enumeration 
of  them  :  she  repeats,  she  amplifies,  she  heightens  every  cir- 
cumstance ;  she  seems  to  have  the  very  plunder  in  her  imme- 
diate possession;  she  pauses,  and  contemplates  every  particular ; 

"  Have  they  not  found?    Have  they  not  divided  the  spoil ? 
To  every  man  a  damsel,  yea  a  damsel  or  two? 
To  Sisera  a  spoil  of  divers  colours  ? 
A  spoil  of  needlework  of  divers  colours, 
A  spoil  for  the  neck  of  divers  colours  of  needlework  on  either  side." 

To  add  to  the  beauty  of  this  passage,  there  is  also  an  uncom- 
mon neatness  in  the  versification,  great  force,  accuracy,  and 
perspicuity  in  the  diction,  the  utmost  elegance  in  the  repeti- 
tions, which,  notwithstanding  their  apparent  redundancy,  are 
conducted  with  the  most  perfect  brevity.  In  the  end,  the 
fatal  disappointment  of  female  hope  and  credulity,  tacitly  in- 
sinuated by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  apostrophe, 
"  So  let  all  thine  enemies  perish,  0  Jehovah !  " 
is  expressed  more  forcibly  l)y  this  very  silence  of  the  person 


118  BIBLICAL  CRITICS  AND  EXPOSITORS. 

wlio  was  just  speaking,  than  it  could  possibly  have  been  by 
all  the  powers  of  language. 

But  whoever  wishes  to  understand  the  full  force  and  ex- 
cellence of  this  figure,  as  well  as  the  elegant  use  of  it  in  the 
Hebrew  ode,  must  apply  to  Isaiah,  whom  I  do  not  scruple  to 
pronounce  the  sublimest  of  poets.  He  will  there  find,  in  one 
short  poem,  examples  of  almost  every  form  of  the  prosopopoeia, 
and  indeed  of  all  that  constitutes  the  sublime  in  composition. 
I  trust  it  will  not  be  thought  unseasonable  to  refer  immedi- 
ately to  the  passage  itself,  and  to  remark  a  few  of  the  principal 
excellenQies.* 

The  prophet,  after  predicting  the  liberation  of  the  Jews  from 
their  severe  captivity  in  Babylon,  and  their  restoration  to  their 
own  country,  introduces  them  as  reciting  a  kind  of  triumphal 
song  upon  the  fall  of  the  Babylonish  monarch,  replete  with 
imagery,  and  with  the  most  elegant  and  animated  personifica- 
tions. A  sudden  exclamation,  expressive  of  their  joy  and 
admu'ation  on  the  unexpected  revolution  in  their  affairs,  and 
the  destruction  of  their  tyrants,  forms  the  exordium  of  the 
poem.  The  earth  itself  triumphs  with  the  inhabitants  thereof; 
the  fir-trees  and  the  cedars  of  Lebanon  (under  which  images 
the  parabolic  style  frequently  delineates  the  kings  and  princes 
of  the  Gentiles)  exult  with  joy,  and  persecute  with  contemp- 
tuous reproaches  the  humbled  power  of  a  ferocious  enemy : — 

"  The  whole  earth  is  at  rest,  is  quiet;  they  burst  forth  into  a  joyful  shout : 
Even  the  fir-trees  rejoice  over  thee,  the  cedars  of  Lebanon : 
Since  thou  ai't  fallen,  no  feller  hath  come  up  against  us."  f 

*  Isa.  xiv.  4-27. 

t  Thus  spiritedly  versified  by  Mr  Potter : 

The  lordly  Lebanon  waves  high 
The  ancient  honours  of  his  sacred  head  ; 
Their  branching  arms  his  cedars  sjDread, 

His  pines  triumphant  shoot  into  the  sky  : 
"  Tyrant,  no  barb'rons  axe  invades, 
Since  thou  art  fallen,  our  unpierced  shades." 


ISAIAH.  119 

This  is  followed  by  a  bold  and  animated  personification  of 
Hades,  or  the  infernal  regions.  Hades  excites  Hs  inhabitants, 
the  ghosts  of  princes,  and  the  departed  spirits  of  kings  :  they 
rise  immediately  from  their  seats,  and  proceed  to  meet  the 
monarch  of  Babylon ;  they  insult  and  deride  him,  and  comfort 
themselves  with  the  view  of  his  calamity  : — 

"  Art  thou,  even  thou  too,  become  weak  as  we?    Art  thou  made  like 

unto  us  ? 
Is  then  thy  pride  brought  down  to  the  grave?  the  sound  of  thy 

sprightly  instruments  ? 
Is  the  vermin  become  thy  couch,  and  the  earth-worm  thy  covering?  " 

Again,  the  Jewish  people  are  the  speakers,  in  an  exclamation 
after  the  manner  of  a  funeral  lamentation,  which  indeed  the 
whole  form  of  this  composition  exactly  imitates.  The  remark- 
able fall  of  this  powerful  monarch  is  thus  beautifully  illus- 
trated : — 

"  How  art  thou  fallen  from  heaven,  0  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning! 
Art  cut  down  from  earth,  thou  that  didst  subdue  the  nations!" 

He  himself  is  at  length  brought  upon  the  stage,  boasting  in 
the  most  pompous  terms  of  his  own  power,  which  furnishes 
the  poet  with  an  excellent  opportunity  of  displaying  the  un- 
paralleled misery  of  his  downfall.  Some  persons  are  intro- 
duced, who  find  the  dead  carcase  of  the  king  of  Babylon  cast 
out  and  exposed  :  they  attentively  contemplate  it,  and  at  last 
scarcely  know  it  to  be  his  : — 

"  Is  this  the  man,  that  made  the  earth  to  tremble  ?  that  shook  the 
kingdoms? 
That  made  the  world  like  a  desert ;  that  destroyed  the  cities  ?  " 

They  reproach  him  with  being  denied  the  common  rites  of 
sepulture,  on  account  of  the  cruelty  and  atrocity  of  his  con- 
duct ;  they  execrate  his  name,  his  offspring,  and  their  posterity. 
A  solemn  address,  as  of  the  Deity  himself,  closes  the  scene ; 
and  He  denounces  against  the  king  of  Babylon,  his  posterity, 


120 


BIBLICAL  CRITICS  AND  EXPOSITORS. 


and  even  against  the  city  wliich  was  tlie  seat  of  their  cruelty, 
perpetual  destruction ;  and  confirms  the  immutability  of  His 
own  counsels  by  the  solemnity  of  an  oath. 

How  forcible  is  this  imagery,  how  diversified,  how  sublime  ! 
how  elevated  the  diction,  the  figures,  the  sentiments!  The 
Jemsh  nation,  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  the  ghosts  of  departed 
kings,  the  Babylonish  monarch,  the  travellers  who  find  his 
corpse,  and  last  of  all  Jehovah  Himself,  are  the  characters 
which  support  this  beautiful  lyric  drama.  One  continued 
action  is  kept  up,  or  rather  a  series  of  interesting  actions  is 
connected  together  in  an  incomparable  whole.  This,  indeed, 
is  the  principal  and  distmguished  excellence  of  the  sublimer 
ode,  and  is  displayed  in  its  utmost  perfection,  in  this  poem  of 
Isaiah,  which  may  be  considered  as  one  of  the  most  ancient, 
and  certainly  the  most  finished  specimen  of  that  species  of 
composition  which  has  been  transmitted  to  us.  The  personi- 
fications here  are  frequent,  yet  not  confused ;  bold,  yet  not 
improbable ;  a  free,  elevated,  and  truly  divine  spirit  pervades 
the  whole  ;  nor  is  there  anything  wanting  in  this  ode  to  defeat 
its  claim  to  the  character  of  perfect  beauty  and  sublimity.  If, 
indeed,  I  may  be  indulged  in  the  free  declaration  of  my  own 
sentiments  on  this  occasion,  I  do  not  know  a  single  instance 
in  the  whole  compass  of  Greek  and  Roman  poetry,  which,  in 
every  excellence  of  composition,  can  be  said  to  equal,  or  even 
to  approach  it. 

5r})e  ^utlimc  of  Passion. 

As  the  imitation  or  delineation  of  the  passions  is  the  most 
perfect  production  of  poetry,  so,  by  exciting  them,  it  most 
completely  effects  its  purpose.  The  intent  of  poetry  is  to  pro- 
fit while  it  entertains  us ;  and  the  agitation  of  the  passions,  by 
the  force  of  imitation,  is  in  the  highest  degree  both  useful  and 
pleasant. 

This  method  of  exciting  the  passions  is  in  the  first  place 


THE  USE  OF  THE  PASSIONS.  121 

useful,  when  properly  and  lawfully  exercised ;  that  is,  when 
these  passions  are  directed  to  their  proper  end,  and  rendered 
subservient  to  the  dictates  of  nature  and  truth ;  when  an  aver- 
sion to  evil,  and  a  love  of  goodness,  is  excited.  And  if  the 
poet  deviate  on  any  occasion  from  this  great  end  and  aim,  he 
is  guilty  of  a  most  scandalous  abuse  and  perversion  of  his 
artj  for,  the  passions  and  affections  are  the  elements  and 
principles  of  human  action ;  they  are  all  in  themselves  good, 
useful,  and  virtuous ;  and,  when  fairly  and  naturally  employed, 
not  only  lead  to  useful  ends  and  purposes,  but  actually  prompt 
and  stimulate  to  virtue.  It  is  the  office  of  poetry  to  incite,  to 
direct,  to  temper  the  passions,  and  not  to  extinguish  them.  It 
professes  to  exercise,  to  amend,  to  discipline  the  affections ;  it 
is  this  which  is  strictly  meant  by  Aristotle,  when  he  speaks  of 
the  2>^'vmng  of  the  jxtssions,  though  certam  commentators  have 
strangely  perverted  his  meaning. 

But  this  operation  on  the  passions  is  also  more  immediately 
useful,  because  it  is  productive  of  pleasure.  Every  emotion 
of  the  mind  (not  excepting  even  those  which  in  themselves 
are  allied  to  pain),  when  excited  through  the  agency  of  the 
imitative  arts,  is  ever  accompanied  with  an  exquisite  sensation 
of  pleasure.  This  arises  partly  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
imitation  itself;  partly  from  the  consciousness  of  our  own 
felicity,  when  compared  with  the  miseries  of  others ;  but 
principally  from  the  moral  sense.  Nature  has  endued  man 
with  a  certain  social  and  generous  spirit ;  and  commands  him 
not  to  confine  his  cares  to  himself  alone,  but  to  extend  them 
to  all  his  fellow-creatures ;  to  look  upon  nothing  which  relates 
to  mankind  as  foreign  to  himself.  Thus,  "  to  rejoice  with 
them  that  do  rejoice,  and  to  weep  with  them  that  weep;"  to 
love  and  to  respect  piety  and  benevolence ;  to  cherish  and  re- 
tain an  indignant  hatred  of  cruelty  and  injustice ;  that  is,  to 
obey  the  dictates  of  nature — is  right,  is  honest,  is  becoming,  is 
pleasant. 

VOL.  IV.  L 


122  BIBLICAL  CRITICS  AND  EXPOSITORS. 

The  sublime  and  tlie  pathetic  are  intrinsically  very  different ; 
and  yet  have  in  some  respects  a  kind  of  affinity  or  con- 
nexion. The  pathetic  includes  the  passions  which  we  feel, 
and  those  which  we  excite.  Some  passions  may  be  expressed 
without  any  of  the  sublime  ;  the  sublime  also  may  exist  where 
no  passion  is  directly  expressed  :  there  is  however  no  subhmity 
where  no  passion  is  excited.  That  sensation  of  sublimity 
which  arises  from  the  greatness  of  the  thoughts  and  imager}^, 
has  admiration  for  its  basis,  and  that  for  the  most  j^art  con- 
nected with  joy,  love,  hatred,  or  fear ;  and  this  I  tliink  is  evi- 
dent from  the  instances  which  were  so  lately  under  our  consi- 
deration. 

How  much  the  sacred  poetry  of  the  Hebrews  excels  in  ex- 
citing the  passions,  and  in  directing  them  to  their  noblest  end 
and  aim ;  how  it  exercises  them  upon  their  proper  objects  ; 
how  it  strikes  and  fires  the  admiration  by  the  contemplation  of 
the  Divine  Majesty,  and,  forcing  the  affections  of  love,  hope, 
and  joy,  from  unworthy  and  terrestrial  objects,  elevates  them 
to  the  pursuit  of  the  supreme  good ;  how  it  also  stinmlates 
those  of  grief,  hatred,  and  fear,  which  arc  usually  employed 
upon  the  trifling  miseries  of  this  life,  to  the  abhorrence  of  the 
supreme  evil,  is  a  subject  which  at  present  w\ants  no  illustra- 
tion, and  which,  though  not  unconnected  with  sulilimity  in  a 
general  view,  would  be  improperly  introduced  in  this  place. 
For  we  are  not  at  present  treating  of  the  general  effects  of 
sublimity  on  the  passions,  but  of  that  species  of  the  sublime 
which  proceeds  from  vehement  emotions  of  the  mind,  and 
from  the  imitation  or  representation  of  passion. 

Here,  indeed,  a  spacious  field  presents  itself  to  our  view ; 
for  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  sacred  poetry  is  little  else 
than  a  continued  imitation  of  the  different  passions.  What  in 
reality  forms  the  substance  and  subject  of  most  of  these  i)oems 
but  the  passion  of  admiration,  excited  by  the  consideration  of 
the  Divine  power  and  majesty ;  the  passion   of   oy  from  the 


ADMIRATION,  JOY.  123 

sense  of  tlie  Divine  favour,  and  the  prosperous  issue  of  events  ; 
the  passion  of  resentment  and  indignation  against  the  con- 
temners of  God  j  of  grief,  from  the  consciousness  of  sin  j  and 
terror,  from  the  apprehension  of  the  divine  judgment  1  Of  all 
these,  and  if  there  be  any  emotions' of  the  mind  beyond  these, 
exquisite  examples  may  be  found  in  the  Book  of  Job,  in  the 
Psalms,  in  the  Canticles,  and  in  every  part  of  the  prophetic 
writings.  On  this  account  my  principal  difficulty  will  not  be 
the  selection  of  excellent  and  proper  instances,  but  the  ex- 
plaining of  those  which  spontaneously  occur  without  a  con- 
siderable diminution  of  their  intrinsic  sublimity. 

Admiration,  as  it  is  ever  the  concomitant,  so  it  is  frequently 
the  efficient  cause  of  sublimity.  It  produces  great  and  magni- 
ficent conceptions  and  sentiments,  and  expresses  them  in  lan- 
guage bold  and  elevated,  in  sentences,  concise,  abrupt,  and 


"  Jehovah  reigneth ;  let  the  people  tremble : 
He  sitteth  upon  the  Cherabim  ;  let  the  earth  be  moved."  * 

"■  The  voice  of  Jehovah  is  upon  the  waters : 
The  God  of  gloiy  thmiders  : 
Jehovah  is  upon  the  many  waters. 
The  voice  of  Jehovah  is  full  of  power ; 
The  voice  of  Jehovah  is  full  of  majesty."  f 

"  Who  is  like  unto  thee  among  the  gods,  0  Jehovah? 
Who  is  like  unto  thee,  adorable  in  holiness ! 
Fearful  in  praises,  who  workest  wonders ! 
Thou  extendest  thy  right  hand  ;  the  earth  swalloweth  them."  ^ 

Joy  is  more  elevated,  and  exults  in  a  bolder  strain  :  it  pro- 
duces great  sentiments  and  conceptions,  seizes  upon  the  most 
splendid  imagery,  and  adorns  it  with  the  most  animated  lan- 
suaj^e  ;  nor  does  it  hesitate  to  risk  the  most  darmg  and 
unusual  figures.  In  the  Song  of  Moses,  in  the  thanksgiving 
of  Deborah  and  Baruch,  what  sublimity  do  we  find,  in  senti- 
*  Ps,  xcix.  1.  t  Ps.  xxix.  3,  4.  X  Ex.  xv.  11,  12. 


12J:  13IBUCAL  CRITICS  AND  EXPOSITORS. 

iiieiit,  ill  language,  in  the  general  turn  of  tlie  expression  ! 
But  nothing  can  excel  in  this  respect  that  noble  exultation  of 
universal  nature,  in  the  psalm  which  has  been  so  often  coin- 
inended,  where  the  whole  animated  and  inanimate  creation 
unite  in  the  praises  of  their  Maker.  Poetry  here  seems  to 
assume  the  highest  tone  of  triumph  and  exultation,  and  to  revel, 
if  I  may  so  express  myself,  in  all  the  extravagance  of  joy  : — 

Tell  in  high  harmonious  strains, 

Tell  the  world  Jehovah  reigns ! 

He,  who  framed  this  beauteous  whole, 

He,  who  fix'd  each  planet's  place ; 

AVho  bade  unnumber'd  orbs  to  roll, 

In  destined  course,  through  endless  space. 

Let  the  glorious  Heavens  rejoice. 

The  hills  exult  with  grateful  voice ; 

Let  ocean  tell  the  echoing  shore, 

And  the  hoarse  waves  with  humble  voice  adore ! 

Let  the  verdant  plains  be  glad  ; 

The  trees  in  blooming  fragrance  clad ! 

Smile  with  joy,  ye  desert  lands, 

And,  rushing  torrents,  clap  your  hands ! 

Let  the  Avhole  earth  with  triumph  ring  ; 

Let  all  that  live  with  loud  applause 

Jehovah's  matchless  praises  sing ! — 

He  comes  !    He  comes !    Heaven's  righteous  King, 

To  judge  the  world  by  Truth's  eternal  laws.* 

Nothing,  however,  can  be  greater  or  more  magnificent  than 
the  representation  of  anger  and  indignation,  particularly  when 
the  Divine  wrath  is  displayed.  Of  this  the  whole  of  the  pro- 
phetic Song  of  Moses  affords  an  incomparable  specimen.  I 
have  formerly  produced  from  it  some  instances  of  a  different 
kind ;  nor  ought  the  following  to  be  denied  a  place  in  these 
lectures  : — 

"  For  I  will  lift  my  hand  unto  the  heavens, 
And  I  will  say,  I  live  for  ever : 

*  Vh.  xcvi.  10-13,  and  xcviii.  7-9. 


INDIGNATION.  125 

If  I  whet  the  brightness  of  my  sword, 
And  my  hand  lay  hold  on  judgment ; 
I  will  return  vengeance  to  my  enemies, 
And  I  will  recompense  those  that  hate  me : 
I  ■v^^LU  drench  my  arrows  in  blood, 
And  my  sword  shall  devour  flesh ; 
With  the  blood  of  the  slain  and  the  captives, 
From  the  bushy  head  of  the  enemy."  * 

Nor  is  Isaiali  less  daring  on  a  similar  subject — 

*'  For  the  day  of  vengeance  was  in  my  heart, 
And  the  year  of  my  redeemed  was  come. 
And  I  looked,  and  there  was  no  one  to  help  ; 
And  I  was  astonished  that  there  was  no  one  to  uphold  ; 
Therefore  mine  own  arm  wrought  salvation  for  me. 
And  mine  indignation  itself  sustained  me. 
And  I  trod  down  the  peoples  in  mine  anger ; 
And  I  crushed  them  in  mine  indignation  ; 
And  I  spilled  their  life-blood  on  the  ground."  f 

The  display  of  the  fury  and  the  threats  of  the  enemy,  by  which 
Moses  finely  exaggerates  the  horror  of  their  unexpected  ruhi; 
is  also  wonderfully  sublime — 

"  The  enemy  said,  I  will  pursue,  I  will  overtake ; 
I  will  divide  the  spoil,  my  soul  shall  be  satiated  ; 
I  will  draw  my  sword,  ray  hand  shall  destroy  them : 
Thou  didst  blow  with  thy  breath ;  they  were  covered  with  the  sea."  J 

*  Deut.  xxxii.  40-42.  t  Isa.  Ixiii.  4-6.  t  Exod.  xv.  9, 10. 


CHURCH  HISTORIANS. 

Until  ^Merle  D'AiilDigne  sliewed  liow  possible  it  is  to  fill  it 
with  a  li-sdng  interest,  the  dreariest  department  of  literature  was 
Church  History.  The  annals  of  Baronius,  the  Madgeburg 
Centuriators,  the  long  and  laborious  compilations  of  Tillemont, 
Fleury,  and  Du  Pin,  of  Venema  and  Spanheim,  as  well  as  the 
compendiums  of  Jablonski  and  Moshcim,  must  often  be  con- 
sulted by  the  student  in  quest  of  information ;  but  to  a  reader 
in  search  of  fine  thoughts  or  picturesque  characters,  of  great 
principles  ably  developed,  or  affecting  incidents  suitably  de- 
scribed, they  will  prove  an  absolute  Sahara — a  mere  land  of 
emptiness.  Our  own  country  is  in  this  respect  not  worse  off 
than  its  neighbours ;  for,  if  nothing  can  be  more  dull  than  the 
tedious  pages  of  Strype  and  the  one-sided  pages  of  Collier,  there 
is  much  amusement  in  Fuller,  and  to  the  unadorned  martyro- 
logy  of  Foxe  we  are  riveted  by  the  painful  fascination  of  its 
affecting  narrative.  And,  in  our  own  time,  the  labours  of  M'Crie, 
]\Iarsden,  and  Vaughan,  awaken  the  hope  of  histories  which 
will  be  Christian  rather  than  Ecclesiastical,  and  from  the  perusal 
of  which  we  may  come  away  without  feeling  as  adust  and  arid 
as  if  we  had  spent  a  day  in  Doctors'  Commons. 

BISHOP  BURNET. 

It  is  by  a  sort  of  anachronism — inevitable  in  a  book  like 
this; — that  we  here  introduce  the  honest  and  heartily  Protestant 
Bishop  of  Salisbury ;  for  the  greater  part  of  his  "  History  of 
the  Reformation"  was  published  in  the  century  jireceding. 
But  perhaps  we  shall  entitle  ourselves  to  the  use  of  his  name 
in  this  connexion,  by  quoting  from  his  "Life  and  Times," 


BURNET.  127 

wliicli,  of  course,  was  published  after  liis  death,  and  which  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  entertaining  books  of  the  period. 

Burnet  was  born  at  Edinburgh,  September  18,  1643.  He 
died,  March  17,  1715.  Besides  his  liistories,  he  wrote  excel- 
lent biographies  of  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  of  Bishop  Bedell,  and 
of  the  Earl  of  Rochester,  and  an  exposition  of  the  Thirty-Nine 
Articles,  wliich,  in  common  mth  his  "  Pastoral  Care,"  still  re- 
tain an  honourable  rank  in  theological  literature. 

CJatactcr  mti  Heat]^  of  ^tcpisjop  ILn'gSton» 

I  writ  so  earnestly  to  Leighton,  that  he  came  to  London 
[1684.]  Upon  his  commg  to  me  [in  London],  I  was  amazed 
to  see  him,  at  above  seventy,  look  still  so  fresh  and  w^U,  that 
age  seemed  as  if  it  were  to  stand  still  with  him.  His  hair 
was  still  black,  and  all  his  motions  were  lively.  He  had  the 
same  quickness  of  thought,  and  strength  of  memory,  but, 
above  all,  the  same  heat  and  life  of  devotion,  that  I  had  ever 
seen  in  him.  When  I  took  notice  to  him  upon  my  first  seeing 
him  how  well  he  looked,  he  told  me  he  was  very  near  his  end 
for  all  that,  and  his  work  and  journey  both  were  now  almost 
done.  This  at  that  time  made  no  great  impression  on  me.  He 
was  the  next  day  taken  with  an  oppression,  and,  as  it  seemed, 
with  a  cold  and  with  stitches,  which  was  indeed  a  pleurisy. 

The  next  day  Leighton  sunk  so,  that  both  speech  and  sense 
went  away  of  a  sudden.  And  he  continued  panting  about 
twelve  hours,  and  then  died  without  pangs  or  convulsions.  I 
was  by  him  all  the  while.  Thus  I  lost  him  who  had  been  for 
so  many  years  the  chief  guide  of  my  whole  life.  He  had  lived 
ten  years  in  Sussex,  in  great  privacy,  dividing  his  time  wholly 
between  study  and  retirement,  and  the  doing  of  good;  for,  in 
the  parish  where  he  lived,  and  in  the  parishes  round  about,  he 
was  always  employed  in  preaching,  and  in  reading  prayers. 


128  CHURCH  HISTORIANS. 

He  distributed  all  he  had  iii  charities,  choosing  rather  to  have 
it  go  through  other  people's  hands  than  his  own;  fori  was 
his  almoner  in  London.  He  had  gathered  a  well- chosen 
library  of  curious  as  well  as  useful  books,  which  he  left  to  the 
diocese  of  Dumblane  for  the  use  of  the  clergy  there,  that 
country  bemg  ill  provided  -with  books.  He  lamented  oft  to 
me  the  stupidity  that  he  observed  among  the  commons  of 
England,  who  seemed  to  be  much  more  insensible  in  the  mat- 
ters of  religion  than  the  commons  of  Scotland  were.  He  re- 
tained still  a  peculiar  inclination  to  Scotland;  and  if  he  had 
seen  any  prospect  of  doing  good  there,  he  would  have  gone 
and  lived  and  died  among  them.  In  the  short  time  that  the 
affairs  of  Scotland  were  in  the  Duke  of  Monmouth's  hands, 
that  duke  had  been  possessed  with  such  an  opinion  of  him, 
that  he  moved  the  king  to  write  to  him,  to  go  and  at  least 
live  in  Scotland,  if  he  would  not  engage  in  a  bishopric  there. 
But  that  fell  with  that  duke's  credit.  He  was  in  his  last  years 
turned  to  a  greater  severity  against  Popery  than  I  had  imagined 
a  man  of  his  temper  and  of  his  largeness  in  point  of  opinion 
was  capable  of  He  spoke  of  the  corruptions,  of  the  secular 
spirit,  and  of  the  cruelty  that  appeared  in  that  Church,  with  an 
extraordinary  concern;  and  lamented  the  shameful  advances 
that  we  seemed  to  be  making  towards  Popery.  He  did  this 
with  a  tenderness  and  an  edge  that  I  did  not  expect  from  so 
recluse  and  mortified  a  man.  He  looked  on  the  state  the 
Church  of  England  was  in  with  very  melancholy  reflections, 
and  was  very  uneasy  at  an  expression  then  much  used,  that 
it  was  the  best  constituted  Church  in  the  world.  He  thought 
it  was  truly  so  with  relation  to  the  doctrine,  the  worship,  and 
the  main  part  of  our  government;  but  as  to  the  administra- 
tion, both  with  relation  to  the  ecclesiastical  courts  and  the 
pastoral  care,  he  looked  on  it  as  one  of  the  most  corrupt  ho 
had  ever  seen.     He  thought  we  looked  like  a  fair  carcase  of  a 


THE  DEATH  OF  LEIGHTON,  120 

body  mthout   a  spiiit,  without  that  zeal,  that  strictness  of 
life,  and  that  laboriousness  in  the  clergy,  that  became  ns. 

There  were  two  remarkable  circumstances  in  his  death.  He 
used  often  to  say,  that  if  he  were  to  choose  a  place  to  die  in,  it 
should  be  an  inn;  it  looking  like  a  pilgrim's  going  home,  to 
whom  this  world  was  all  as  an  inn,  and  Avho  was  weary  of  the 
noise  and  confusion  in  it.  He  added,  that  the  officious  tender- 
ness and  care  of  friends  was  an  entanglement  to  a  dying  man; 
and  that  the  unconcerned  attendance  of  those  that  could  be 
procured  in  such  a  place  would  give  less  disturbance.  And  he 
obtained  what  he  desired,  for  he  died  at  the  Bell  Inn  in 
Warwick  Lane.  Another  circumstance  was,  that  while  he 
was  bishop  in  Scotland,  he  took  what  his  tenants  were  pleased 
to  pay  him  :  so  that  there  was  a  great  arrear  due,  which  was 
raised  slowly  by  one  whom  he  left  in  trust  with  his  affairs 
there.  And  the  last  payment  that  he  could  expect  from  thence 
was  returned  up  to  Mm  about  six  weeks  before  his  death.  So 
that  his  provision  and  journey  failed  both  at  once. 

[In  an  earlier  portion  of  his  work,  Burnet  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  saintliest  name  in  the  annals  of  Scottish 
Episcopacy] : — 

He  had  great  quickness  of  parts,  a  lively  apprehension, 
with  a  charming  vivacity  of  thought  and  expression.  He  had 
the  greatest  command  of  the  purest  Latin  that  ever  I  knew  in 
any  man.  He  was  a  master  both  of  Greek  and  Hebrew,  and 
of  the  whole  compass  of  theological  learning,  chiefly  in  the 
study  of  the  Scriptures.  But  that  which  excelled  all  the  rest 
was,  he  was  possessed  with  the  highest  and  noblest  sense  of 
divine  things  that  I  ever  saw  in  any  man.  He  had  no  regard 
to  his  person,  unless  it  was  to  mortify  it  by  a  constant  low 
diet,  that  was  like  a  perpetual  fast.  He  had  a  contempt  both 
of  wealth  and  reputation.  He  seemed  to  have  the  lowest 
thoughts  of  himself  possible,  and  to  desire  that  all  other  per- 


130  CHURCH  HISTORIANS. 

sons  should  think  as  meanly  of  him  as  he  did  himself.  He 
bore  all  sorts  of  ill-usage  and  reproach  like  a  man  that  took 
pleasm-e  in  it.  He  had  so  subdued  the  natural  heat  of  his 
temper,  that  in  a  great  variety  of  accidents,  and  in  a  course  of 
twenty-two  years'  intimate  conversation  vdih  him,  I  never 
observed  the  least  sign  of  passion  but  upon  one  single  occa- 
sion. He  brought  himself  into  so  composed  a  gravity,  that  I 
never  saw  him  laugh,  and  but  seldom  smile.  And  he  kept 
himself  in  such  a  constant  recollection,  that  I  do  not  remember 
that  ever  I  heard  him  say  one  idle  word.  There  was  a  visible 
tendency  in  all  he  said  to  raise  his  ovm  mind,  and  those  he* 
conversed  with,  to  serious  reflections.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
perpetual  meditation.  And  though  the  whole  course  of  his 
life  was  strict  and  ascetical,  yet  he  had  nothing  of  the  sour- 
ness of  temper  that  generally  possesses  men  of  that  sort.  He 
was  the  freest  from  superstition,  of  censuring  others,  or  of  im- 
posing his  o^^Ti  methods  on  them,  possible ;  so  that  he  did  not 
so  much  as  recommend  them  to  others.  He  said  there  was  a 
diversity  of  tempers,  and  every  man  was  to  watch  over  his 
own,  and  to  turn  it  in  the  best  manner  he  could.  His  thoughts 
were  lively,  oft  out  of  the  way,  and  suq^rising,  yet  just  and 
genuine.  And  he  had  laid  together  in  liis  memory  the  greatest 
treasure  of  the  best  and  wisest  of  all  the  ancient  sayings  of  the 
heathens  as  well  as  Christians,  that  I  have  ever  known  any 
man  master  of;  and  he  used  them  in  the  aptest  manner  possible. 
He  had  been  bred  up  with  the  greatest  aversion  imaginable 
to  the  whole  frame  of  the  Church  of  England.  From  Scot- 
land, his  father  sent  him  to  travel.  He  spent  some  years  in 
France,  and  spoke  that  language  like  one  born  there.  He 
came  afterwards  and  settled  in  Scotland,  and  had  Presbyterian 
ordination ;  but  he  quickly  broke  through  the  prejudices  of  his 
education.  His  preachhig  had  a  sublimity  both  of  thought 
and  expression  in  it.     The  grace  and  gravity  of  his  pronuncia- 


JOSEPH  A.ND  ISAAC  MILNER.  131 

tion  was  such,  that  few  heard  hmi  without  a  very  sensible 
emotion:  I  am  sure  I  never  did.  His  style  was  rather  too 
fine;  but  there  was  a  majesty  and  beauty  in  it  that  left  so 
deep  an  impression,  that  I  cannot  yet  forget  the  sermons  I 
heard  him  preach  thirty  years  ago  :  and  yet  with  this  he 
seemed  to  look  on  himself  as  so  ordinary  a  preacher,  that 
wliiJe  he  had  a  cure,  he  was  ready  to  employ  all  others ;  and 
when  he  was  a  bishop,  he  chose  to  preach  to  small  auditories, 
and  would  never  give  notice  beforehand :  he  had,  indeed,  a  very 
low  voice,  and  so  could  not  be  heard  by  a  great  crowd. 

THE  MILNERS. 

The  records  of  fraternal  affection  contain  no  example  more 
beautiful  and  touching  than  the  brotherly  love  of  Joseph  and 
Isaac  Milnee.  Their  father,  who  had  once  been  a  member 
of  the  Society  of  Friends,  was  a  manufacturer  in  reduced  cir- 
cumstances in  the  town  of  Leeds.  However,  poor  as  he  was, 
he  strove  to  secure  a  good  education  for,  at  least,  one  of  his 
sons.  Joseph  was  sent  to  the  grammar-school,  and  afterwards 
t(3  Catherine  I^all,  Cambridge.  There  he  acquitted  himself  so 
well  that  he  soon  was  appointed  master  of  the  grammar-school 
at  Hull,  and  found  himself  in  cii'cumstances  to  aid  his  younger 
brother.  He  knew  Isaac's  love  of  learning,  and  grieved  that 
the  studious  lad  should  consume  his  days  in  weaving  broad 
cloth.  He  asked  his  friend  the  Rev.  Mr  Miles  Atkinson  to  visit 
him,  and  test  his  classical  attainments.  Mr  Atkinson  found 
him  seated  at  the  loom,  with  Tacitus  and  some  Greek  author 
lying  beside  him.  Notwithstanding  his  long  absence  from 
school,  the  young  apprentice  acquitted  himself  so  well  that  i\Ir 
Atkinson  went  to  his  master  and  purchased  a  release  from  his 
indentures.  "  Isaac,  lad,  thou  art  off,"  was  the  worthy  manu- 
facturer's laconic  announcement  of  the  fact  to  the  joyful  Isaac, 
who  immediately  repaired  to  Hull  and  commenced  as  usher 


132 


CHURCH  HISTORIANS. 


in  his  brother's  crowded  scliool.  From  thence,  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  through  the  same  brother's  generosity  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  Queen's  College,  Cambridge.  There  he  studied 
to  such  purpose  that  on  taking  liis  degree  the  ex-weaver 
came  out  senior  wrangler,  with  the  epithet  "  Incomparabilis," 
besides  being  first  Smith's  prizeman,  and  was  soon  after  elected 
a  fellow  and  tutor  of  his  college,  and  commenced  the  career 
which  ended  in  his  being  president  of  Queen's  and  Dean  of 
Carlisle. 

Joseph  Milner  was  born  Jan.  2,  1744.  He  died  Vicar  of 
Holy  Trinity,  Hull,  Nov.  15,  1797. 

Isaac  Milner  was  bom  Jan.  11,  1750,  and  died  April  1, 
1820. 

Before  his  death,  Joseph  had  published  three  volumes  of  a 
"  History  of  the  Church  of  Christ."  When  he  died  he  left 
some  materials  so  far  prepared,  that  the  work  was  taken  up 
and  two  volumes  added  by  the  surviving  brother.  That  it 
has  all  the  charms  of  a  first-rate  history,  or  that  the  portion 
which  passed  through  Isaac's  hands  is  altogether  worthy  of 
the  fame  of  the  mighty  mathematician,  it  would  be  vain  to 
assert ;  but  it  is  not  hazarding  much  to  say  that  the  work  of 
the  Milners  is  the  best  account  of  the  Christian  life  of  past  ages 
which  English  readers  yet  possess,  and  that  for  the  authen- 
ticity of  its  details,  and  the  truthfulness  of  its  representations, 
it  far  surpasses  many  of  its  more  pretentious  competitors. 

That  good  men  frequently  appear  to  more  advantage  in  pri- 
vate life  than  in  public,  is  a  remark  which  was  jDcrhaps  never 
better  exemplified  than  in  this  prelate,  of  whom  all  that  is 
known  by  the  generality  of  readers  is,  that  he  was  a  strenuous 
supporter  of  the  papal  dominion  in  England.  I  can  easily 
conceive  that  he  might  be  influenced  by  the  purest  motives  in 


ANSELM.  133 

tliis  part  of  his  conduct,  when  I  reflect  on  the  shameless  and 
profane  manners  of  the  Norman  princes.  But  his  private  life 
was  purely  his  own,  originating  more  directly  from  the  honest 
and  good  heart  with  which,  through  grace,  he  was  eminently 
endowed.  As  a  divine  and  a  Christian,  he  was  the  first  of 
characters  in  this  century,  and  is,  therefore,  deserving  of  some 
attention. 

He  was  born  at  Aoust  in  Piedmont.  From  early  life  his 
religious  cast  of  mind  was  so  prevalent  that,  at  the  age  of  fif- 
teen, he  offered  himself  to  a  monastery,  but  was  refused,  lest 
his  father  should  have  been  displeased.  He  afterwards  be- 
came entangled  in  the  vanities  of  the  world;  and  to  his  death, 
he  bewailed  the  sins  of  his  youth.  Becoming  a  scholar  of 
Lanfranc,  his  predecessor  in  the  See  of  Canterbury,  at  that 
time  a  monk  at  Bee,  in  Normandy,  he  commenced  monk  in 
the  year  10 GO,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven.  He  afterwards 
became  the  prior  of  the  monastery.  His  progress  in  religious 
knowledge  was  great ;  but  mildness  and  charity  seem  to  have 
predominated  in  all  his  views  of  piety.  The  book  commonly 
caUed  Augustine's  Meditations,  was  chiefly  abstracted  from  the 
writings  of  Anselm.  At  the  age  of  forty-five  he  became  abbot 
of  Bee.  Lanfranc  dying  in  1089,  William  Rufus  usurped  the 
revenues  of  the  See  of  Canterbury,  and  treated  the  monks  of 
the  place  in  a  barbarous  manner.  For  several  years  this  pro- 
fane tjrrant  declared,  that  none  should  have  the  see  while  he 
lived  j  but  a  fit  of  sickness  overawed  his  spirit ;  and  conscience, 
the  voice  of  God,  which  often  speaks  even  in  the  proudest  and 
the  most  insensible,  severely  reproved  his  wickedness ;  inso- 
much that  he  nominated  Anselm  to  be  the  successor  of  Lan- 
franc. That  Anselm  should  have  accepted  the  office  with 
much  reluctance  under  such  a  pnnce,  is  by  no  means  to  be 
wondered  at;  and,  the  more  upright  and  conscientious  men 
are,  the  more  wary  and  reluctant  will  they  always  be  found  in 
accepting  offices  of  so  sacred  a  nature ;  though  it  is  natural 

VOL.  IV,  M 


134  cHtTRCH  historians; 

for  men  of  a  secular  spirit  to  judge  of  others  by  themselves, 
and  to  suppose  the  "  nolo  episcopari,"  to  be,  without  any  ex- 
ceptions, the  language  of  hypocrisy. 

Anselm  pressed  the  king  to  allow  the  calling  of  councils,  in 
order  to  institute  an  inquiry  into  crimes  and  abuses ;  and  also 
to  fill  the  vacant  abbeys,  the  revenues  of  which  William  had 
reserved  to  himself  with  sacrilegious  avarice.  Nothing  but  the 
conviction  of  conscience,  and  the  ascendency  which  real  up- 
rightness maintains  over  wickedness  and  profligacy,  could 
have  induced  such  a  person  as  William  Kufus,  to  promote 
Anselm  to  the  see,  though  he  must  have  foreseen  how  impro- 
bable it  was,  that  the  abbot  would  ever  become  the  tame 
instrument  of  liis  tyranny  and  oppression.  In  fact,  Anselm, 
finding  the  Church  overborne  by  the  iniquities  of  the  tyrant, 
retired  to  the  Continent  with  two  monks,  one  of  whom,  named 
Eadmer,  wrote  his  life. 

Living  a  retired  life  in  Calabria,  he  gave  employment  to  hia 
active  mind  in  writing  a  treatise  on  the  reasons  why  God 
should  become  man,  and  on  the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity  and 
the  Incarnation  :  a  work  at  that  time  useful  to  the  Church  of 
Christ,  as  he  refuted  the  sentiments  of  Roscelin,  who  had  pub- 
lished erroneous  views  concerning  the  Trinity.  For,  after  a 
sleep  of  many  ages,  the  genius  of  Arianism  or  Socinianism,  or 
both,  had  awaked,  and  taken  advantage  of  the  general  igno- 
rance, to  corrupt  the  fundamental  doctrines  of  Christianity. 
Anselm  knew  how  to  reason  closely  and  systematically,  after 
the  manner  of  the  fiimous  Peter  Lombard,  master  of  the  sen- 
tences, and  Bishop  of  Paris ;  and  he  was  properly  the  first  of 
the  scholastic  divines.  The  method  of  ratiocination  then 
used  was,  no  doubt,  tedious,  verbose,  and  subtile,  and,  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  grew  more  ftnd  more  perplexed.  It  was,  how- 
ever, preferable  to  the  dissipation  and  inanity  which,  in  many 
publications  of  our  times,  pretend  to  the  honour  of  good  sense 
and  sound  wisdom,  though  devoid  of  learning  and  industry. 


SCHOLASTIC  DIVINITY.  135 

Moreover,  the  furniture  of  the  schools,  in  the  hands  of  a  fine 
genius  like  Anselm,  adorned  with  solid  piety,  and  under  the 
control  of  a  good  understanding,  stemmed  the  torrent  of  pro- 
fane infidelity,  and  ably  supported  the  cause  of  godhness  in 
the  world.  Koscelin  was  confuted,  and  the  common  orthodox 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity  upheld  itself  in  the  Church.  Wliat 
were  the  precise  viev/s  of  Koscelin  will  be  better  understood, 
when  we  come  to  introduce  one  of  his  scholars,  the  famous 
Peter  Abelard  to  the  reader's  notice. 

Anselm,  weary  of  an  empty  title  of  dignity,  and  seeing  no 
probability  of  being  enabled  to  serve  the  Church  in  the  arch- 
bishopric, entreated  the  Pope  to  give  him  leave  to  resign  it,  but 
in  vain.  Nor  does  he  seem  to  have  been  justly  chargeable  with 
the  display  of  an  "  ostentatious  humility,"  when  he  had  first 
refused  the  promotion.*  The  integrity,  with  which  he  had 
acted,  ever  smce  that  promotion  had  taken  place,  ought  to  have 
rescued  him  from  the  illiberal  censure.  "  Piufus  had  detained 
in  prison  several  persons,  whom  he  had  ordered  to  be  freed 
during  the  time  of  his  penitence ;  he  still  preyed  upon  the 
ecclesiastical  benefices  ;  the  sale  of  spiritual  dignities  continued 
as  open  as  ever ;  and  he  kept  possession  of  a  considerable  part 
of  the  revenues  belonging  to  the  See  of  Canterbury."  Was  it 
a  crime,  or  was  it  an  instance  of  laudable  integrity  in  Anselm, 
to  remonstrate  against  such  proceedings  1  I  suppose  the  can- 
dour and  good  sense  of  the  author  to  whom  I  allude,  would 
have  inclined  him  to  praise  that  upright  conduct,  for  w^hich 
Anselm  was  obliged  to  retire  to  the  Continent,  had  not  this 
same  Anselm  been  a  priest,  and  a  priest  too  of  sincere  zeal 
and  fervour.  In  justice  to  Anselm,  it  should,  moreover,  be 
observed,  that  one  reason  why  he  wished  to  resign  his  arch- 
bishopric was,  that  he  believed  he  might  be  of  more  service  to 
the  souls  of  men  in  a  merely  clerical  character,  which  was 
more  obscure.  And  he  was  naturally  led  to  assign  this  reason 
*  See  Hume,  vol.  i.,  p.  302. 


136  CHURCH  HISTOELVNS. 

to  tlie  Pope,  from  the  observation  wliicli  lie  maclo  of  the  effect 
of  his  preaching  on  audiences  in  Italy. 

Men  of  superior  talents,  however,  are  frequently  born  to 
drudge  in  business  or  in  arts,  whether  they  be  in  prosperous 
or  in  adverse  circumstances.  For  mankind  feel  the  need  of 
such  men ;  and  they  themselves  are  not  apt  to  bury  their 
powers  in  indolence.  A  C/Ouncil  was  called  at  Bari  by  Pope 
Urban,  to  settle  with  the  Greeks  the  dispute  which  had  long 
separated  the  Eastern  and  Western  Churches,  concerning  the 
procession  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  For  the  Greek  Church,  it 
would  seem,  without  any  scriptural  reason,  had  denied  the 
procession  of  the  Holy  Ghost  from  the  Son ;  and  had,  there- 
fore, thrust  the  words  and  the  son  '""  out  of  the  Nicene  Creed. 
While  the  disputants  were  engaged,  the  Pope  called  on  Anselm, 
as  his  father  and  master,  for  his  reply.  The  archbishop  arose, 
and  by  his  powers  of  argimientation  silenced  the  Greeks. 

At  Lyons,  he  WTote  on  the  conception  of  the  Virgin,  and 
on  original  sin ;  and  thus  he  employed  himself  in  religious, 
not  in  secular  cares,  during  the  whole  of  his  exile :  a  strong 
proof  of  his  exemption  from  that  domineering  ambition  of 
which  he  has  been  accused.  In  the  year  1100  he  heard  of  the 
death  of  his  royal  persecutor,  which  he  is  said  to  have  seriously 
lamented,  and  returned  into  England,  by  the  invitation  of 
Henry  I.  To  finish  at  once  the  account  of  his  unpleasant 
contests  with  the  Norman  princes,  he,  at  length,  was  enabled 
to  compromise  them.  The  great  object  of  controversy  was  the 
same  in  England  as  in  the  other  countries  of  Europe,  namely, 
"  Whether  the  investiture  of  bishoprics  should  be  received  from 
the  King  or  from  the  Pope."  Anselm,  moved  undoubtedly  by 
a  conscientious  zeal,  because  all  the  world  bore  witness  to  his 
integrity,  was  decisive  for  the  latter ;  and  the  egregious  ini- 
quities, and  shameless  violations  of  all  justice  and  decorum, 
practised  by  ininces  in  that  age,  would  naturally  strengthen  the 
*  *'  Proceeding  from  the  Father  and  the  Sou." 


DEVOTIONAL  SPIRIT.  137 

prejudices  of  Anselm's  education.  To  receive  investiture  from 
the  Pope  for  tlie  spiritual  jurisdiction,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
to  do  homage  to  the  king  for  the  temporalities,  was  the  only- 
medium,  which  in  those  times  could  be  found,  between  the 
pretensions  of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  dominion  ;  and  mat- 
ters were  settled,  on  this  plan,  both  in  England  and  in 
Germany. 

If  Anselm  then  contributed  to  the  depression  of  the  civil 
power,  and  the  confirmation  of  the  papal,  he  was  unhappily 
carried  away  by  a  popular  torrent,  which  few  minds  had  power 
to  resist.  It  seemed  certain,  however,  that  ambition  formed  no 
part  of  this  man's  character.  "  While  I  am  with  you,"  he 
would  often  say  to  his  friends,  "  I  am  like  a  bird  in  a  nest 
amidst  her  young,  and  enjoy  the  sweets  of  retirement  and  social 
affections ;  but  when  I  am  thrown  into  the  world,  I  am  like 
the  same  bird  hunted  and  harassed  by  ravens  or  other  fowls 
of  prey :  the  incursions  of  various  cares  distract  me ;  and  secu- 
lar employments,  which  I  love  not,  vex  my  soul."  He  who 
spent  a  great  part  of  his  life  in  retirement,  who  thought,  spake, 
and  wrote  so  much  of  vital  godliness,  and  whose  moral  cha- 
racter was  allowed,  even  by  his  enemies,  to  have  ever  been 
without  a  blot,  deserves  to  be  believed  in  these  declarations. 

Let  us  then  attend  to  those  traits  of  character,  which  were 
more  personal,  and  in  which  the  heart  of  the  man  more  plainly 
appears.  He  practised  that  which  all  godly  persons  have  ever 
found  salutary  and  even  necessary,  namely,  retired  and  devo- 
tional meditation,  and  even  watched  long  in  the  night  for  the 
same  purpose.  One  day,  a  hare,  pursued  by  the  hounds,  ran 
under  his  horse  for  refuge,  as  he  was  riding.  The  object, 
bringing  at  once  to  his  recollection  a  most  awful  scene,  he 
stopped  and  said  weeping,  "  This  hare  reminds  me  of  a  sinner 
just  dying,  surrounded  with  devils,  waiting  for  their  prey."  It 
was  in  this  manner  that  he  used  to  spiritualise  every  object ;  a 
practice  ever  derided  by  profane  minds,  whether  performed 

M  2   ' 


138  CHURCH  HISTOrJANS. 

injudiciously  or  not,  but  to  wliich,  in  some  degree,  every  de- 
vout and  pious  spiiit  on  eartli  lias  been  addicted. 

In  a  national  synod,  held  at  St  Peter's,  Westminster,  he  for- 
bad men  to  be  sold  as  cattle,  which  had  till  then  been  prac- 
tised. For  the  true  reliefs  and  mitigations  of  human  misery 
lay  entirely,  at  that  time,  in  the  influence  of  Christianity ;  and 
small  as  that  influence  then  was,  the  ferocity  of  the  age  was 
tempered  by  it ;  and  human  life  was  thence  prevented  from 
being  entirely  degraded  to  a  level  with  that  of  the  beasts  which 
perish. 

Anselm  died  in  the  sixteenth  year  of  his  archbishopric,  and 
in  the  seventy-sixth  year  of  his  age.  Toward  the  end  of  his 
life,  he  wrote  on  the  Will,  Predestination,  and  Grace,  much  in 
Augustine's  manner.  In  prayers,  meditations,  and  hymns,  he 
seems  to  have  had  a  peculiar  delight.  Eadmer  says  that  he 
used  to  say,  "  If  he  saw  hell  open,  and  sin  before  him,  he  would 
leap  into  the  former  to  avoid  the  latter."  I  am  sorry  to  see 
this  sentiment,  Avhich,  stripped  of  figure,  means  no  more  than 
what  all  good  men  allow,  that  he  feared  sin  more  than  punish- 
ment, aspersed  by  so  good  a  divine  as  Foxe  the  martyrologist.* 
But  Anselm  was  a  Papist,  and  the  best  Protestants  have  not 
been  without  their  prejudices. 

DR  JOHN  JOETIN. 

John  Jortin  was  a  native  of  St  Giles's,  where  he  was  born 
October  23,  1698  j  and  as  he  was  for  twenty-five  years  minister 
of  a  chapel  m  New  Street,  Bloomsbury,  and  died  vicar  of  Ken- 
sington, nearly  the  whole  of  his  life  was  spent  in  London. 
His  education,  begun  at  the  Charter- House,  was  completed  at 
Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  and  he  early  acquired  a  taste  for 
that  elegant  scholarship,  which  formed  the  chief  business  and 
solace  of  his  unambitious  career,  and  which  still  preserves  his 
name  from  oblivion. 

*  Acts  and  Monuments,  vol.  i. 


DR  JOETIN.  139 

To  a  man  of  taste,  leisure,  and  calm  temperament,  we  fancy, 
that  of  all  themes,  the  most  attractive  would  be  "  A  Life  of 
Erasmus."  To  a  large  extent  involving  the  inner  liistory  of 
Ptomanism,  it  woukl  inckide  the  revival  of  letters  in  the 
fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  and,  whilst  it  gave  us  a 
glimpse  of  every  court  in  Europe,  it  would  bring  us  acquainted 
with  nearly  all  the  notabilities  of  the  period,  literary,  religious, 
and  political.  Nor  would  the  least  part  of  the  author's  treat 
be  the  deliberate  perusal  of  the  ten  folios  which  have  come 
down  to  us  from  the  pen  of  the  clever,  witty,  sarcastic  Hol- 
lander, so  as  to  collect  for  his  mosaic  the  best  of  their  many- 
coloured  gems.  At  the  same  time,  Erasmus  is  not  the  sort 
of  hero  who  awakens  our  enthusiasm,  and  it  would  require 
muck  tact  and  skill  to  interest  tke  general  reader  in  the  long 
career  of  one  whom  Protestants  despised  as  a  time-server,  and 
whom  Papists  detested  as  a  traitor  within  their  camp.  Dr 
Jortin  made  the  attempt.  With  his  sense  of  humour,  his 
scholarship,  and  his  freedom  from  sectarianism,  it  was  a  con- 
genial employment ;  and  if  he  had  arranged  his  materials  more 
skilfully,  he  would  have  produced  a  delightful  work.  But  he 
was  deficient  in  the  art  of  construction,  and  so  entirely  lacked 
the  dramatic  or  descriptive  talent,  that  he  has  given  us  little 
more  than  a  series  of  epistolary  extracts,  interspersed  with 
critical  remarks  by  himself  and  others ;  and,  consequently,  a 
lively  and  readable  "  Life  of  Erasmus,"  still  remains  a  desi- 
deratum in  literature. 

Owing  to  a  certain  desultory  turn  of  mind,  as  well  as  the 
artistic  deficiencies  already  indicated,  Dr  Jortin,  notwithstand- 
ing all  his  erudition,  could  not  have  become  the  Gibbon  or  the 
Sismondi  of  the  Christian  Church ;  but  in  his  "  Kemarks  on 
Ecclesiastical  History,"  he  has  given  us  five  volumes  of  ingeni- 
ous criticism  on  detached  passages  in  the  Church's  annals,  and 
some  clever  and  lively  remarks  on  its  more  prominent  per- 


140  CHURCH  HISTORIANS. 

sonages.  Most  of  these  fragments  are  cliaracterised  by  a  fea- 
ture which  is  not  always  to  be  found  in  brilliant  writers.  His 
spirit  is  almost  invariably  kindly,  and  his  judgments  lean  to 
the  mild  and  charitable  side. 

Dr  Jortin  lies  buried  at  Kensington.  We  have  always 
deemed  his  epitaph  as  one  of  the  happiest  specimens  of  lapi- 
dary writing :  so  brief,  so  worthy  of  a  Christian's  grave,  and, 
without  absolute  quaintness,  in  its  very  simplicity  so  strik- 
ing :— 

JO  :   JORTIN 

MORTALIS  ESSE  DESIIT 

ANNO  SALUTIS,  1770. 

^TATIS  72, 

Cyprian  was  made  Bishop  of  Carthage,  a.d.  248.  It  hath 
been  said  of  him  that  he  was  fond  of  spiritual  power,  and  it 
cannot  entirely  be  denied;  but  he  had  factious  ecclesiastics 
and  troublesome  schismatics  to  deal  with,  which  might  lead  him 
to  insist  somewhat  the  more  on  his  prerogatives;  and  it  is 
certain  that  in  one  point  he  was  for  restraining  Episcopal  en- 
croachments. He  highly  approved  and  recommended  the 
method  of  aj^pealing  to  the  people  in  the  election  of  bishops, 
and  of  asking  their  consent  and  approbation,  and  of  allowing 
them  a  negative.  He  thought  that  the  bishops  of  a  province 
had  no  right  to  make  a  cabal,  and  elect  a  bishop  secretly  by 
themselves,  and  obtrude  him  upon  the  Church.  But  after 
Christianity  was  the  established  and  the  ruling  religion,  great 
inconveniences,  and  tumults,  and  seditions,  and  massacres  arose 
from  the  popular  elections  of  bishops,  and  ecclesiastical  prefer- 
ments became  more  lucrative,  and  were  thought  more  worthy 
of  a  battle,  or  of  mean  tricks  and  solicitations. 


CYPRIAN.  I4i 

Cyprian  upon  all  occasions  consulted  his  own  clergy  and 
people,  and  desired  their  consent.  The  bishops  of  Eome  at 
that  time  began  to  take  upon  them  and  to  domineer,  and 
Stephen,  dealing  about  his  censures  and  excommunications, 
behaved  himself  mth  indecency  and  arrogance  towards  Cyprian 
and  many  others,  in  the  affair  of  rebaptizing. 

In  a  Council  of  Carthage,  consisting  of  eighty-seven  bishops, 
Cyprian  said  to  them,  "  None  of  us  ought  to  set  himself  up  as 
a  bishop  of  bishops,  or  pretend  tyrannically  to  constrain  his 
colleagues,  because  each  bishop  hath  a  liberty  and  a  power  to 
act  as  he  thinks  fit,  and  can  no  more  be  judged  by  another 
bishop  than  he  can  judge  another.  But  we  must  all  wait 
for  the  judgment  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom  alone  belongs  the 
power  to  set  us  over  the  Church,  and  to  judge  of  our  actions." 
Du  Pin  inserted  these  words  in  his  "  Biblioth."  i.  p.  164,  to 
buffet  the  Pope  by  the  hand  of  Cyprian. 

Many  passages  there  are  in  Cyprian's  writings  containing 
high  notions  of  Episcopal  authority  and  ecclesiastical  jurisdic- 
tion. AVliilst  he  strenuously  opposed  the  domination  of  one 
pope,  he  seemed  in  some  manner  to  make  as  many  popes  as 
bishops,  and  mere  arithmetical  noughts  of  the  rest  of  the 
Christians ;  which  yet,  I  believe,  was  not  his  intent. 

In  the  persecution  under  Decius,  he  fled  from  Carthage,  and 
was  proscribed,  and  his  effects  were  seized.  He  was  censured 
by  some  persons  as  a  deserter  of  his  flock ;  but  the  decent  con- 
stancy and  the  Christian  piety  with  which  he  laid  down  his 
life  afterwards,  afford  a  presumption  that  he  had  not  retired 
for  want  of  courage. 

His  death  was  lamented  even  by  many  of  the  Pagans, 
whose  esteem  he  had  gained  by  his  affable  and  charital)le 
behaviour. 

He  often  talks  of  his  visions  and  revelations,  some  of  which 
he  had  on  occasions  which  in  all  appearance  were  small  and 


142  CHURCH  HISTORIANS. 

inconsiderable  enough,  whilst  he  had  none  to  guide  him  and 
set  him  right  in  points  of  more  importance.  He  appeals  to 
these  visions,  and  makes  use  of  them  to  justify  his  conduct. 
It  would  be  dealing  too  severely  with  him,  considering  his 
character  in  other  respects,  to  ascribe  this  entirely  to  artifice 
and  policy,  and  it  would  be  more  candid  and  charitable  to 
suppose  that  with  much  piety,  he  had  a  mixture  of  African 
enthusiasm,  and  that  what  he  thought  upon  in  the  day,  he 
dreamed  of  at  night,  and  the  next  morning  took  his  dreams  for 
Divine  admonitions.  Some  perhaps  will  choose  to  leave  it  am- 
biguous— dum  Elias  venerit. 

In  his  treatise  "  De  Lapsis,"  he  relates  some  strange  miracles, 
one  of  which  is  that  the  consecrated  bread  was  turned  into  a 
cinder  in  the  hands  of  a  profane  person,  who  thus  found, 
according  to  the  proverb,  jyro  thescmro  carhones.^ 

When  the  Corinthians  shewed  a  want  of  reverence  and  de- 
cency in  receiving  the  Lord's  Supper,  what  was  the  conse- 
quence 1  "  For  this  cause  many  are  weak  and  sickly  among  you, 
and  many  sleep."  The  correetion  was  solemn  and  tremendous. 
But  of  these  transformations  what  can  we  say  1  and  how  can 
we  give  credit  to  them  ? 

*  Macarius  of  Alexandria,acelebratedmonkantlsaiat  of  the  fourth  century, 
is  said  to  have  related  this  story,  that  when  the  monks  approached  to  the  holy 
communion,  and  stretched  out  their  hands  to  receive  it,  devils  under  the 
figure  of  little  ugly  Ethiopian  boys  (who  were  only  visible  to  Macarius)  pre- 
vented the  officiating  priest,  and  gave  to  some  of  them  coals  iu stead  of  the 
consecrated  bread,  which  bread,  though  to  by-standers  it  seemed  to  be  given 
by  the  priest  and  received  by  these  monks,  returned  back  again  to  the  altar  : 
whilst  other  monks,  who  were  more  pious  and  better  disposed,  when  they 
approached  to  receive  the  sacrament,  chased  the  evil  spirits  away,  who  fled 
with  great  flferror  and  precipitation,  because  an  angel,  who  assisted  at  the 
altar,  put  his  hand  upon  the  hand  of  the  presbyter  when  he  delivered  the 
sacrjypent  to  these  good  men.  This  account  is  in  the  Vitce  Patrmn,  and 
inserted,  with  a  thousand  more  stories  of  the  same  kind,  in  Tillemont,  H,  E. 
viii.  641.  To  such  a  degree  the  boldness  of  feigning  miracles,  and  the  faci- 
lity of  admitting  them,  was  carried  in  those  days  ! 


MIRACULOUS  LEGENDS.  143 

There  is  a  story  of  the  same  kind,  of  bread  turned  into  a 
stone,  related  by  Sozomen.  An  heretic  of  the  sect  of  the 
Macedonians  had  a  wife  of  the  same  sect.  The  man  was  con- 
verted by  Chrysostom,  and  used  many  arguments,  in  vain,  to 
bring  over  his  stubborn  spouse.  At  last  he  told  her  that  if 
she  would  not  receive  the  Lord's  Supper  with  him  at  church, 
he  would  live  with  her  no  longer.  She  consented,  but  was 
resolved  to  deceive  him,  and  instead  of  eating  the  bread  which 
the  minister  gave  her,  she  took  some  which  she  had  brought 
with  her  -,  but  as  she  was  biting  it,  it  was  turned  into  a  stone 
in  her  mouth,  a  stone  neither  in  substance  nor  colour  like  other 
stones,  and  bearing  upon  it  the  impression  of  her  teeth,  which 
made  her  repent  and  publicly  confess  her  crime.  This  hap- 
pened about  the  end  of  the  fourth  century,  and  Sozomen  can 
supply  us  with  an  hundred  miracles  as  good.  His  sending 
unbelievers  to  the  church  to  look  at  the  .stone  which  was  kept 
there  as  a  rarity  was  very  judicious 

I  would  willingly  have  paid  a  greater  deference  to  the  au- 
thority and  testimony  of  this  pious  father  and  martyr  concern- 
ing visions  and  miracles;  and  if  I  dissent  from  him,  it  is  not 
without  some  reluctance.  I  have  no  notion  of  differing  from 
worthy  persons,  living  or  dead,  for  the  sake  of  singularity  or 
of  contradiction,  in  which  I  can  discern  no  charms,  and  neither 
pleasure  nor  profit.  To  an  opinion  commonly  received,  and 
received  by  good  men,  when  I  cannot  assent,  I  am  inclined  to 
say, 

"  Invitus,  Kegiiia,  tuo  de  littore  cessi." 

But  alas !  Opinion  is  a  queen  who  will  not  accept  of  such 
excuses : 


Kec  niagis  iucepto  vultum  sermonc  inovetiit^ 
Quam  si  dura  silex  aiit  stet  Marpesia  caiites." 


144  CHURCH  HISTOrJANS. 

Origen  .and  other  ancient  Christians  ascribed  to  our 
Saviour  this  saying — "  Act  like  skilful  bankers,  rejecting  what 
is  bad,  and  retaining  what  is  good."  This  precept  is  proper 
for  all  who  apply  themselves  to  the  study  of  religious  antiqui- 
ties. Good  and  bad  money  is  offered  to  them,  and  they  ought 
to  beware  of  the  coin  which  will  not  pass  current  in  the  re- 
public of  letters  and  in  the  critical  world,  and  of  that  which  is 
found  light  when  weighed  in  the  balance  of  the  sanctuary. 


PULPIT  ORATOPuS. 

A  PREACHER  wlio  writes  a  new  sermon  every  week,  produces  a 
tliousand  in  twenty  years,  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  many  a 
minister  might  boast  an  unpublished  authorship,  quite  as  ex- 
tensive as  the  hundred  printed  octavos  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Nor  are  the  instances  few  where  all  this  elaborate  preparation 
has  been  gone  through  for  the  sake  of  a  very  limited  auditory. 
The  inhabitants  of  a  rural  hamlet,  the  frequenters  of  a  village 
€hapel,  have  monopolised  the  whole  of  it.  Could  we  conceive 
a  poet  or  a  pamphleteer  issuing  a  weekly  publication  to  the 
inhabitants  of  a  Pitcairn's  Island  or  an  lona,  we  should  have  a 
case  somewhat  equivalent  to  the  conscientious  and  unambi- 
tious pastor,  who  spends  the  best  part  of  liis  time  preparing 
for  his  scanty  audience  the  weekly  cjuota  of  exhortation  and 
instruction,  and  who  feels  it  "  an  over-payment  of  delight,"  if 
now  and  then  a  sinner  is  converted  from  the  error  of  his  ways, 
or  if  a  parishioner  shews  symptoms  of  incipient  amendment. 

What  becomes  of  all  the  sermons  1  We  do  not  mean.  What 
becomes  of  all  the  manuscripts?  for  many  sermons  were 
never  written ;  but,  What  is  the  result  or  product  from  all 
this  preaching  1  In  our  melancholy  moods,  we  are  apt  to  fear 
that  it  is  very  small.  Is  it  not  a  rare  thing  to  hear  of  a  dis- 
trict solemnised,  and  devoting  even  temporary  attention  to  the 
concerns  of  eternity  1  Is  it  not  rare  to  find  so  much  as  an 
individual,  on  whom  a  change  so  conspicuous  has  taken  place, 
as  to  deserve  the  name  of  conversion  ?  How  many  ministers 
can  point  to  infidels  whom  their  preaching  has  convinced,  or 
drunkards  whom  it  has  sobered  1  How  often  is  a  sermon  fol- 
lowed by  the  healing  of  a  family  feud,  or  the  setting  up  of 
family  w^orship, — by  the  restitution  of  stolen  property,  or  by 

VOL.  lY.  N 


146  PULPIT  OEATORS. 

the  discontinuauce  iii  a  locality  of  some  cruel  or  demoralising 
amusement  ? 

Yet,  occasionally  such  effects  do  follow,  and  assuredly  they 
would  not  be  rare  were  they  sought  more  habitually  and  more 
hopeftdly.  But  after  their  first  efforts,  it  would  almost  appear 
as  if  many  ministers  ceased  to  reaUse  their  mission,  and  no 
longer  looked  for  the  help  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  They  and  their 
audience  take  up  a  relative  position,  which  is  henceforth  never 
more  to  alter — a  professional  solemnity  on  the  one  side,  a 
respectful  non-attention  on  the  other.  Year  after  year  steals 
on,  during  which  the  ecclesiastical  sing-song  or  orthodox  com- 
mon-places are  drawled  forth  in  hepdomadal  instalments  to 
drowsy  church- wardens,  or  less  comatose  deacons ;  and,  unless 
it  emerge  from  some  funeral  occasion,  there  does  not  swell  up 
from  the  flat  dry  surface  a  single  impressive  idea,  a  single 
burst  of  urgent  appeal  or  genuine  emotion.  In  as  far  as  abid- 
ing impression  or  moral  result  is  concerned,  the  effect  is  much 
the  same  when  that  voice  in  the  pulpit  is  hushed,  and  when 
that  beU  in  the  steeple  is  broken  :  a  sacred  and  familiar  sound 
has  passed  away,  but  it  will  soon  be  replaced  by  another,  of 
different  pitch  and  tone  perhaps,  but  destined  in  its  turn  to 
diffuse,  through  half- shut  ears,  the  same  Sabbatic  lullaby. 

During  the  eighteenth  century,  at  the  rate  of  ten  thousand  . 
every  Sunday,  fifty  millions  of  sermons  must  have  proceeded 
from  the  pulpits  of  England.  Of  these  we  may  assume  that 
the  best  are  still  extant ;  and  if  we  set  aside  those  discourses 
which  were  preached  by  the  evangelists  of  the  Great  Revival, 
and  which  we  shall  have  occasion  to  notice  in  a  subsequent 
section,  they  give  us,  on  the  whole,  a  dreary  sense  of  impo- 
tence and  poverty ;  and  as  we  turn  over  the  broad-margined 
volumes,  so  jejune  and  vapid,  our  first  wonder  is  how  men 
could  have  the  patience  to  consign  such  inanities  to  paper ; 
our  next  wonder  is  how  people  could  be  found  to  listen  to  such 
effusions  when  preached,  to  buy  and  peruse  them  when  printed. 


ATTERBURY.  147 

Our  British  literature  presents  no  other  expanse  so  dull  and 
desolate ;  and  to  compile  the  beauties  of  Smahidge  and  Moss, 
Stennett  and  Guyse,  would  be  a  task  as  agreeable  and  as  re- 
munerative, as  the  virtuoso's  who  should  try  to  gather  gems 
in  a  bricklayer's  yard,  or  who  would  fill  his  portfolio  with 
mountain  sketches  from  a  rolling  prairie.  We  shall  do  the  best 
that  we  can  for  our  readers ;  but  even  amongst  the  most 
admired  preachers  of  Queen  Anne's,  and  the  earlier  Georgian 
eras,  they  must  not  expect  much  fertility  of  thought,  or  fervour 
of  spirit. 

BISHOP  ATTERBURY. 

Francis  Atterbury  was  born  at  Middleton  Kepies,  in 
Buckinghamshire,  March  6,  1663.  At  Christ  Church,  Oxford, 
he  early  obtamed  the  reputation  of  a  first-rate  classical  scholar ; 
and  in  editing  an  Anthology  of  Latin  Poems  by  Italian  Bards, 
and  in  aiding  his  pupil  Boyle,  afterwards  Earl  of  Orrery,  in  his 
famous  controversy  \\ith  Bentley,  he  found  some  employment 
for  his  vigorous  mind,  and  an  outlet  for  his  multifarious  ac- 
quisitions. But  his  turn  was  active,  and  his  tastes  were  rhe- 
torical, and  the  Lower  House  of  Convocation,  as  well  as  the 
pulpit,  furnished  an  arena  more  congenial  than  the  cloisters  of 
a  college.  At  an  early  period  appointed  chaplain  to  King 
William  and  Queen  Mary,  he  rose  to  the  highest  place  among 
the  preachers  of  the  day;  and  as  the  champion  of  the  rights  of 
Convocation,  his  zealous  churchmanship  gave  him  a  position  by 
which  he  profited  in  the  subsequent  reign.  Li  1712,  he  was 
made  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  and  in  the  year  follomng  his  pro- 
motion culminated  in  the  mitre  and  the  episcopal  throne  of 
Rochester.  This  last  he  had  occupied  for  ten  years,  when,  by 
a  startling  disclosure,  he  was  hurled  from  his  high  estate.  A 
correspondence  was  brought  to  light  imphcating  him  in  efforts 
to  restore  the  Pretender,  and  notwithstanding  his  own  ingenious 
and  eloc^uent  defence,  a  bill  of  pains  and  penalties  was  carried 


148  PULPIT  OEATORS. 

through  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  in  June  1723  he  left 
his  native  land  an  exile.     He  died  at  Paris,  February  15, 1733. 

One  of  the  few  books,  the  shortness  of  which  is  really  to  be 
regretted,  is  Dr  William  King's  "  Anecdotes  of  his  Own  Times." 
He  mentions  that  in  1715  he  dined  with  the  Duke  of  Ormond, 
when  Atterbury  was  one  of  a  party  of  fourteen.  "  During  the 
dinner  there  was  a  jocular  dispute  (I  forget  how  it  was  intro- 
duced) concerning  short  prayers.  Sir  William  Wyndham  told 
us,  that  the  shortest  prayer  he  had  ever  heard  was  the  praj^er 
of  a  common  soldier  just  before  the  battle  of  Blenheim : — '  O 
God,  if  there  be  a  God,  save  my  soul,  if  I  have  a  soul.'  This 
was  followed  by  a  general  laugh.  I  immediately  reflected  that 
such  a  treatment  of  the  subject  was  too  ludicrous,  at  least  very 
improper,  where  a  learned  and  religious  prelate  was  one  of  the 
company.  But  I  had  soon  an  opportunity  of  making  a  dif- 
ferent reflection.  Atterbury,  seeming  to  join  in  the  conversa- 
tion, and  applying  himself  to  Sir  W.  Wyndham,  said — '  Your 
prayer.  Sir  William,  is  indeed  very  short;  but  I  remember 
another  as  short,  but  a  much  better,  offered  up  likewise  by  a 
poor  soldier  in  the  same  circumstances: — "0  God,  if  in  the 
day  of  battle  I  forget  Thee,  do  Thou  not  forget  me." '  This,  as 
Atterbury  pronounced  it  with  his  usual  grace  and  dignity,  was 
a  very  gentle  and  polite  reproof,  and  w\as  immediately  felt  by 
the  whole  company;  and  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  who  was  the 
"best  bred  man  of  his  age,  suddenly  turned  the  discourse  to 
another  subject," 

Dr  King's  other  anecdote  is  equally  characteristic  of  the 
^bishoi^s  tact  and  promptitude,  and  its  wit  has  seldom  been 
surpassed  in  the  annals  of  parliamentary  debate.  On  occasion 
of  some  bill  being  introduced  into  the  House  of  Lords,  Atter- 
bury took  occasion  to  remark  that  "  he  had  prophesied  last 
winter  that  this  bill  would  be  attempted  in  the  present  session, 
and  he  was  sorry  to  find  that  he  had  proved  a  true  prophet." 
Lord  Coningsby  replied,  and,  as  usual,  speaking  in  a  passiosi, 


A  CLEVER  RETORT.  149 

lie  desired  the  House  to  remark  "  that  one  of  the  right  reverend 
had  set  himself  forth  as  a  prophet;  but  for  his  part  he  did  not 
know  what  prophet  to  liken  him  to,  unless  to  that  furious  pro- 
phet Balaam,  who  was  reproved  by  his  own  ass."  In  his  reply, 
the  bishop  met  the  rude  attack  with  much  spirit  and  calmness, 
concluding,  "Since  the  noble  lord  hath  discovered  in  our  man- 
ners such  a  similitude,  I  am  well  content  to  be  compared  to 
the  prophet  Balaam:  but,  my  lords,  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to 
make  out  the  other  part  of  the  parallel.  I  am  sure  that  I 
have  been  reproved  by  nobody  but  his  lordship." 

Much  of  Atterbury's  charm  was  personal.  A  contemporary 
critic,  complaining  how  entirely  the  art  of  speaking,  "  with  the 
proper  ornaments  of  voice  and  gesture,"  is  neglected  amongst 
the  clergy  of  Britain,  makes  an  exception  in  favour  of  Atter- 
bury.  "  He  has  so  much  regard  to  his  congregation,  that  he 
commits  to  his  memory  what  he  is  to  say  to  them ;  and  has  so 
soft  and  graceful  a  behaviour,  that  it  must  attract  your  atten- 
tion. His  person,  it  is  to  be  confessed,  is  no  small  recom- 
mendation; but  he  is  to  be  highly  commended  for  not  losing 
that  advantage,  and  adding  to  the  propriety  of  speech,  which 
might  pass  the  criticism  of  Longinus,  an  action  which  would 
have  been  approved  by  Demosthenes.  He  has  a  peculiar  force 
in  his  way,  and  has  many  of  his  audience,  who  could  not  be 
intelligent  hearers  of  his  discourse,  were  there  not  explanation 
as  well  as  grace  in  his  action.  This  art  of  his  is  used  with  the 
most  exact  and  honest  skill.  He  never  attempts  your  passions 
until  he  has  convinced  your  reason.  All  the  objections  which  he 
can  form  are  laid  open  and  dispersed  before  he  uses  the  least 
vehemence  in  his  sermon;  but  when  he  thinks  he  has  your  head,  he 
very  soon  wins  your  heart,  and  never  pretends  to  shew  the  beauty 
of  holiness  until  he  hath  convinced  you  of  the  truth  of  it."* 

In  the  second  of  the  following  extracts  the  conceit  in  which 
the  rainbow  is  spoken  of  as  "  a  bow  without  an  arrow,"  is  what 
*  The  Tatler,  No.  66.     Tlie  date  is  1709. 
n2 


150  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

we  would  scarcely  heave  anticipated  from  the  fastidious  taste 
and  the  Greek  scholarship  of  Atterbury. 

Svrams  auti  Ufsions. 

1.  For  the  most  part  dreams  are  nothing  else  but  the  inco- 
herent and  disjointed  images  of  those  things  we  have  received 
into  the  fancy  by  the  senses,  and  treasured  up  in  our  memories 
when  we  were  awake :  and  we  may  as  reasonably  ho23e  to  find 
exact  and  curious  pictures  drawn  in  the  clouds,  as  any  truth 
and  certainty  in  these  dreams.  And  yet  such  is  our  folly  and 
superstition,  that  we  will  be  continually  spelling  the  counsels 
of  the  Almighty  in  these  antic  and  insignificant  characters  j 
iind  fancy  the  product  of  our  distempered  imaginations  to  be 
the  dictates  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  oracles  of  God.  There 
is  nothing  more  vain  and  foolish  than  our  ordinary  dreams^ 
except  it  be  those  persons  who  are  nicely  and  curiously  exact 
in  the  observation  of  them,  and  look  upon  them  as  the  hand 
and  index,  which  is  to  point  out  to  them  what  is  to  come  to 
pass.  And  in  truth,  this  is  so  slight  and  trifling  a  subject, 
that  it  were  not  fit  to  be  mentioned  in  a  sermon  or  serious  dis- 
course, were  not  the  generality  of  mankind  so  superstitiously 
given  to  the  observation  of  them.  How  this  piece  of  enthu- 
siasm came  to  obtain  so  universally,  is  no  difficult  matter  to 
determine;  for  in  the  first  ages  of  the  world  God  made  use  of 
this  way  to  reveal  Himself  to  mankind;  and  then  the  devil, 
who  loves  to  ape  God  in  his  worship,  took  up  this  method  of 
giving  his  oracles,  and  instituted  this  custom  as  a  sacred  rite; 
that  men  should  sleep  in  the  temples  of  his  idols  when  they 
came  to  inquire  anything  of  them ;  and  answers  were  given  to 
them  in  Dreams  and  Night  Visions.'^  And  therefore  we  may 
justly  conclude,  that  the  nice  and  curious  observation  of 
dreams  is  not  only  unreasonable  and  superstitious,  but 
*  The  text  is  Job  xxxiii.  14-16. 


DREAMS  AND  VISIONS.  151 

heathenish  also.     And  if  the  curious  observation  of  ordinary 
dreams  is  so  sinful,  then  it  follows — 

2.  That  we  ought  not  to  publish  our  own  fancies  and 
imaginations  for  divine  visions  and  inspirations  and  the 
revelations  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  How  frecjuent  has  it  been  in 
these  last  ages,  for  men  not  only  to  be  deluded  themselves, 
but  to  seduce  others  also ;  to  set  up  for  inspired  persons  and 
new  prophets  by  the  help  of  a  heated  imagination !  And  in 
truth,  what  is  all  that  enthusiasm  which  so  much  reigns 
amongst  us,  but  the  dreams  of  those  persons,  whose  vitiated 
imagination  depraves  their  judgments?  We  have  too  many 
who  make  great  pretences  to  a  new  light  within  them,  which 
will  guide  them  into  all  truth,  teach  them  what  they  ought  to 
believe,  and  what  to  do,  without  the  help  of  the  Holy  Scrip- 
ture. Others  there  are  who  are  assured  by  no  less  testimony 
than  that  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  that  they  are  the  children  of 
God,  and  of  the  number  of  the  elect,  though  their  works  tes- 
tify against  them,  that  they  are  the  children  of  the  devil. 
What  are  these  but  the  efforts  of  a  distempered  fancy,  the 
waking  dreams  of  poor  deluded  men,  who  first  take  a  great  deal 
of  pains  to  deceive  themselves,  and  then  double  their  diligence  to 
impose  upon  others?  Let  me  speak  to  them  in  the  words  of 
Maimonides;  "There  are  (says  he)  some  who,  by  the  help  of 
an  over-heatecl  imagination,  have  such  strange  fancies,  dreams, 
and  ecstasies,  that  they  take  themselves  for  prophets,  and 
much  wonder  that  they  have  such  fancies  and  imaginations; 
conceiting  at  last,  that  all  sciences  and  faculties  are  infused 
into  them  without  any  pains  or  study.  And  hence  it  is  that 
they  fall  into  many  odd  opinions,  in  many  speculative  points 
of  no  great  moment,  and  do  so  mix  true  notions  with  such  as 
are  seemingly  and  unaginarily  so,  as  if  heaven  and  earth  were 
jumbled  together.  All  which  proceeds  from  the  too  great 
force  of  the  imaginative  faculty,  and  the  imbecility  of  the 
rational."     Thus  he.     This  delusion,  then,  in  the  sense  of  this 


152  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

excellent  writer,  concerning  those  enthusiasts,  who  pretend  to 
revelation,  arises  from  hence;  that  their  fancies  are  invigo- 
rated and  imi^regnated,  but  their  reason  is  not  informed,  nor 
theii'  understandings  i^ossessed  with  a  true  sense  of  things  in 
their  due  coherence  and  contexture,  and  therefore  they  are  so 
ajJt  to  embrace  things  contrary  to  all  true  sense  and  sober 
reason.  The  best  remedy  a.gainst  this  dangerous  and  too  epi- 
demical disease  of  this  nation,  is  to  take  up  all  our  opinions, 
and  to  govern  all  our  actions,  by  the  written  word  of  God; 
for  it  is  a  gross  piece  of  folly  and  madness,  to  seek  after  new 
lights  and  revelations,  when  God  himself  hath  told  us,  that 
His  word  shall  be  "  a  light  to  our  feet  and  a  lantern  to  our 
paths,"  sufficient  to  guide  us  into  all  truth.  This  is  the 
touch-stone  by  wliich  we  ought  to  try  all  new  lights  and  pre- 
tended revelations,  all  such  doctrines  and  practices  as  bear 
the  face  of  venerable  antiquity,  or  agreeable  novelty.  If  they 
do  not  agree  with  this,  if  they  run  counter  in  any  point  to 
these  lively  oracles,  it  is  only  error  and  vice,  under  the  guise  and 
appearance  of  virtue  and  truth.  God  speaks  to  us  indeed  in 
dreams  and  visions  of  the  night,  and  slumberings  on  the  bed, 
but  it  is  not  to  discover  any  new  and  unrevealed  truth,  to 
make  any  additional  discovery  of  His  will,  but  only  to  rouse  up 
our  minds,  and  awaken  our  attention,  and  put  us  upon  the 
practice  of  those  duties,  and  the  belief  of  those  articles,  which 
have  been  so  frequently  inculcated  into  us,  and  wiitten  in  the 
volume  of  this  holy  book ;  and  therefore, 

Lastly,  how  careful  ought  we  to  be  to  give  an  attentive  ear 
to  these  divine  admonitions,  and  to  cherish  these  holy  inspira- 
tions ;  for  since  God  has  left  off  speaking  to  men  in  dreams 
and  visions,  and  converses  with  us  now  in  a  still  voice — sug- 
gesting to  our  minds  good  thoughts,  inspiring  our  souls  with 
holy  desires  and  affections,  and  by  His  grace  inciting  and 
quickening  us  to  do  good,  and  reprovmg  us  when  we  do  amiss, 
leading  us  into  the  right  way,  and  exhorting  us  to  persevere  in 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.  1.j3 

it — it  must  certainly  be  our  unquestionable  duty  and  truest 
interest,  to  comply  with  these  holy  inspirations;  to  dispose 
ourselves  for  the  receiving  of  them,  by  furnishing  our  minds 
with  suitable  dispositions  and  cp.alifications,  by  an  attentive 
regard  to  whatsoever  He  speaks  to  us,  and  an  humble  submis- 
sion to  everything  which  becomes  our  duty.  For  shall  God 
speak  to  us,  and  shall  not  man  hear?  Shall  we  not  say  with 
Samuel,  "Speak,  Lord;  for  thy  ser\^ant  heareth?"  And  yet 
how  frequently  do  we  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  these  admonitions ! 
And  though  God  speaks  once,  yea  twice,  yet  we  regard  it  not ! 
Who  is  there  that  has  not  heard  God  speak  to  him  by  the  voice 
of  affliction,  and  the  awakening  dispensations  of  His  providence, 
by  the  voice  of  His  ministers,  and  the  inspirations  of  His 
Holy  Spirit?  And  yet  all  these  admonitions  have  not  been 
sufficient  to  work  his  reformation  and  amendment.  There  are 
none  of  us  but  have  been  frequently  warned  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come,  whilst  we  lie  musing  on  our  beds,  and  calling 
to  mind  the  past  actions  of  our  lives.  Is  there  not  a  voice 
■\vithin  us  which  either  accuses  or  excuses  us?  which  repre- 
sents to  us  the  reasonableness  of  a  holy,  just,  and  good  life,, 
and  the  folly  and  madness  of  being  vicious  and  wicked,  and 
what  dangerous  effects  sin  doth  continually  produce  ?  And  if 
so,  how  reasonable  is  it,  that  we  should  hearken  to  this 
heavenly  monitor?  that  we  should  weigh  and  consider  what 
He  dictates  to  us,  and  resolve  to  perform  whatsoever  we  are 
assured  will  conduce  to  our  truest  interest,  both  here  and  here- 
after ?  Which  that  we  may  all  of  us  do,  God  of  His  mercy 
grant  for  Jesus  Christ  His  sake. 

^\)z  l^aiuljobj  aijcut  tjc  Ojronc. 

There  will  certainly  come  a  time  when  we  shall  all  stand 
before  the  throne  of  God,  to  be  judged  according  to  our  works, 
and  to  receive  sentence  according  to  our  deeds  done  in  the 
flesh,  when  the  whole  world  shall  be  on  fire,  "  the  heavens  shall 


154  PULPIT  ORATOKS. 

be  shrivelled  up  like  a  scroll  of  parchment,  the  elements  melt 
■with  fervent  heat,  and  the  earth  and  all  that  is  therein  shall  be 
burnt  up  ;"  when  both  the  book  of  God's  law  and  the  book  of 
our  own  consciences  shall  be  opened,  and  all  our  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions  writ  in  plain  and  legible  characters,  and 
exposed  to  the  view  of  men  and  angels,  and  the  devil,  our  ac- 
cuser, shall  read  our  indictment  against  us,  aggravating  our  sins 
with  all  the  most  heightening  circumstances.  And  then,  were 
not  the  throne  encompassed  with  this  rainbow ;  were  there  not 
^-  mercy  with  Him,  that  He  might  be  feared,"^what  course  could 
we  possibly  take  ?  Could  we  either  avoid  or  endure  the  ven- 
geance of  an  angry  God  ?  Could  we  withstand  the  power,  or 
oppose  the  wrath  of  the  Almighty  ?  To  fancy  this,  would  be 
the  most  desiderate  folly.  What  then  ?  Should  we  deny  the 
fact,  our  consciences  will  be  instead  of  a  thousand  witnesses. 
Or  should  we  call  to  the  mountains  to  fall  on  us,  and  cover  us  ? 
Alas  !  they  will  shake  and  tremble  no  less  than  we.  But  is 
there  no  balm  in  our  Gilead?  Is  there  no  help  for  poor 
miserable  men  within  their  own  reach  1  Was  misery  so  surely 
entailed  upon  them  after  the  fall,  that  there  is  no  possibility  of 
reversing  the  sentence  by  their  own  means?  No,  certainly, 
our  strength  is  but  weakness,  we  have  no  power  to  raise  our- 
selves out  of  this  miserable  condition,  or  to  give  the  least 
helping  hand  towards  our  recovery.  All  that  strength  which 
God  gave  us  at  the  first,  we  lost  by  the  fall  of  our  first  parents, 
and  have  forfeited  that  grace  which  He  has  afforded  us  since, 
by  the  misuse  of  it.  So  that  if  we  look  down  only  upon  our- 
selves, we  shall  find  nothing  but  this  dismal  prospect  of  horror 
and  despair ;  we  can  claim  nothing  of  God,  nor  have  we  any 
thing  of  our  owm  to  succour  and  help  us ;  to  us  belongs  con- 
fusion of  face  and  everlasting  misery,  "  lamentation,  mourning, 
and  woe."  But  if  we  look  up  unto  heaven,  we  may  there  behold 
that  bow  which  God  has  placed  about  the  throne,  to  remind  us 
of  that  covenant  of  mercy  which  God  has  established  with  us, 


DIVINE  MERCY.  155 

and  ratified  and  confirmed  it  mth  the  blood  of  His  dearly  be- 
loved Son,  to  assure  every  broken  heart  and  truly  penitent 
sinner,  that  though  He  is  a  terrible  Judge  to  ol^stinate  offenders, 
yet  He  will  be  a  gracious  and  merciful  Saviour  to  all  those  who 
are  reconciled  to  Him  through  Christ,  and  have  their  sins  par- 
doned by  His  death  and  satisfaction.  God  is  both  able  and 
willing  to  recover  us  out  of  that  desperate  condition  into  which 
we  have  reduced  ourselves.  To  the  Lord  our  God  belongs 
mercy  and  plenteous  forgiveness,  though  we  have  rebelled 
against  Him.  And  therefore  it  is  observable  that  this  bow  has 
no  string  :  it  is  not  bent  to  execute  God's  vengeance  upon  us, 
but  it  is  placed  about  the  throne,  as  instruments  of  war  used 
to  be  in  times  of  peace,  amongst  the  Romans,  for  ornaments  to 
their  houses  and  the  temples  of  their  gods.  It  is  a  bow  with- 
out an  arrow,  denoting  to  us  that  our  blessed  Saviour  has 
appeased  God's  wrath,  and  taken  away  the  sting  of  sin  and 
death,  and,  as  it  were,  disarmed  God's  justice ;  so  that  now 
every  one  who  is  reconciled  to  God  through  Christ  has  no  rea- 
son to  fear  "  the  arrows  that  fly  by  night,  nor  the  pestilence 
that  walketh  at  noonday,"  the  most  dreadful  threatenings  and 
judgments  of  God ;  for  God  has  laid  aside  His  thunder  out  of 
His  hand,  and  is  ready  to  embrace  us  with  the  arms  of  a  loving 
and  indulgent  Father.  And  lastly,  it  is  a  bow  encompassing 
the  throne,  denoting  to  us  that  God's  mercy  is  exalted  above 
His  justice ;  for  though  all  God's  attributes  are  equal,  as  they 
are  essentially  in  God,  yet,  in  their  effects  and  in  the  exercise 
of  them,  they  shine  with  a  different  lustre  j  and  the  goodness 
of  God  is  that  attribute  which  in  a  peculiar  manner  adorns  the 
Divine  nature,  and  renders  it  amiable  and  lovely,  as  well  as 
venerable  and  adorable,  God's  mercy,  which  is  only  the  exer- 
cise of  His  goodness  towards  offenders,  is  represented  in  the 
Holy  Scripture  with  peculiar  privileges  above  the  rest  of  His 
attributes.  God  is  styled  "the  Father  of  mercy;"  "He  is 
rich  in  mercy;"   and  mercy  is  said  to   "please  Him;"  He 


156  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

desires  to  be  known  by  tliis  attribute  to  the  whole  world ; 
He  is  the  Lord  God  gracious  and  merciful,  and  publicly  de- 
clares that  His  mercy  rejoices  over  judgment.  And  therefore 
the  rainbow  is  placed  about  the  throne,  to  signify  to  us  that 
God  is  always  mindful  of  His  gracious  covenant  made  with 
mankind ;  and  that  in  the  midst  of  justice  He  remembers 
mercy. 

DEAN  SWIFT. 

Of  the  pulpit  performances  of  the  Dean  of  St  Patrick's  only 
three  specimens  survive.  The  following  sermon  was  a  special 
favourite  with  Dr  Chalmers,  and  he  used  to  read  it  to  his  class 
as  a  good  example  of  plain  sense  and  downrightness,  as  well 
as  of  a  wise  forbearance,  brought  to  the  treatment  of  a  difficult 
subject.     The  text  is  1  John  v.  7. 

Except  to  the  lovers  of  morbid  mental  anatomy,  the  history 
of  Jonathan  Swift  is  not  an  attractive  subject.  Those  who 
wish  to  study  it  will  find  abundant  materials  in  his  numerous 
biographers  and  critics,  from  Dr  Johnson  down  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Mr  Thackeray. 

<Bn  tje  STrmftg. 

This  day  being  set  apart  to  acknowledge  our  belief  in  the 
Eternal  Trinity,  I  thought  it  might  be  proper  to  employ  my 
present  discourse  entirely  upon  that  subject;  and  I  hope  to 
handle  it  in  such  a  manner  that  the  most  ignorant  among  you 
may  return  home  better  informed  of  your  duty  in  this  great 
point  than  probably  you  arc  at  present. 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  by  the  weakness  and  indiscretion 
of  busy  (or,  at  best,  of  well-meaning)  people,  as  well  as  by  the 
malice  of  those  who  are  enemies  to  all  revealed  religion,  and 
are  not  content  to  possess  their  owii  infidelity  in  silence,  with- 
out communicating  it  to  the  disturbance  of  mankind ;  I  say,  by 
these  means,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  the  doctrine  of  the 


ON  THE  TRINITY.  157 

Triuity  hatli  suffered  very  much,  and  made  Christianity  suffer 
along  with  it.  For  these  two  things  must  be  granted :  First, 
That  men  of  wicked  lives  would  be  very  glad  there  vrere  no 
truth  in  Christianity  at  all;  and,  secondly,  If  they  can  pick  out 
any  one  single  article  in  the  Christian  religion  which  appears 
not  agreeable  to  their  own  corrupted  reason,  or  to  the  argu- 
ments of  those  bad  people  wdio  follow  the  trade  of  seducing 
others,  they  presently  conclude,  that  the  truth  of  the  whole 
gospel  must  sink  along  with  that  one  article ;  which  is  just  as 
■wise  as  if  a  man  should  say,  because  he  dislikes  one  law  of  his 
country,  he  ^\ill  therefore  observe  no  law  at  all.  And  yet  that 
-one  law  may  be  very  reasonable  in  itself,  although  he  doth 
not  allow  it,  or  doth  not  know  the  reason  of  the  lawgivers. 

Thus  it  hath  happened  v/ith  the  great  doctrine  of  the  Tri- 
nity ;  which  word  is  indeed  not  in  Scripture,  but  w^as  a  term  of 
art  invented  in  the  earlier  times  to  express  the  doctrine  by  a 
single  word  for  the  sake  of  brevity  and  convenience.  The  doc- 
trine then,  as  delivered  in  Holy  Scripture,  although  not  exactly 
in  the  same  words,  is  very  short,  and  amounts  only  to  this — 
That  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  are  each  of  them 
Ood,  and  yet  that  there  is  but  one  God.  For,  as  to  the  word 
person,  when  w^e  say  there  are  three  persons,  and  as  to  those 
other  explanations  in  the  Athanasian  creed  this  day  read  to 
you  (whether  compiled  by  Athanasius  or  no),  they  were  taken 
lip  three  hundred  years  after  Christ  to  expound  this  doctrine ; 
and  I  will  tell  you  upon  what  occasion.  About  that  time  there 
sprang  up  a  heresy  of  a  people  called  Arians,  from  one  Arius 
the  leader  of  them.  These  denied  our  Saviour  to  be  God, 
although  they  allowed  all  the  rest  of  the  gospel  (wherein  they 
were  more  sincere  than  their  followers  among  us).  Thus  the 
Christian  world  was  divided  into  two  parts,  until  at  length,  by 
the  zeal  and  courage  of  Saint  Athanasius,  the  Arians  were  con- 
demned in  a  general  council,  and  a  creed  formed  upon  the  true 
faith,  as  Saint  Athanasius  hath  settled  it.     This  creed  is  now 

VOL.  IV.  O 


158  PULPIT  OKATORS. 

read  at  certain  times  in  our  cliurclies,  whicli,  although  it  is 
useful  for  edification  to  those  who  understand  it,  yet,  since  it 
containeth  some  nice  and  philosophical  points  which  few  people 
can  comprehend,  the  bulk  of  mankind  is  obliged  to  believe  no 
more  than  the  Scripture  doctrine,  as  I  have  delivered  it.  Be- 
cause that  creed  was  intended  only  as  an  answer  to  the  Arians 
in  their  own  way,  who  were  very  subtle  disj^uters. 

But  this  heresy  having  revived  in  the  world  about  an  hun- 
dred years  ago,  and  continued  ever  since — not  out  of  a  zeal  to 
truth,  but  to  give  a  loose  to  wickedness  by  throwing  off  all 
religion — several  divines,  in  order  to  answer  the  cavils  of  those 
adversaries  to  truth  and  morality,  began  to  find  out  further  ex- 
planations of  this  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  by  rules  of  philo- 
sophy, which  have  multipUed  controversies  to  such  a  degree  as 
to  beget  scruples  that  have  perplexed  the  minds  of  many  sober 
Christians,  who  otherwise  could  never  have  entertained  them. 

I  must  therefore  be  so  bold  as  to  affirm,  that  the  method  taken 
by  many  of  those  learned  men  to  defend  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity  has  been  founded  upon  a  mistake. 

It  must  be  allowed  that  every  man  is  bound  to  follow  the 
rules  and  directions  of  that  measure  of  reason  which  God  hath 
given  him ;  and  indeed  he  cannot  do  otherwise  if  he  will  be 
sincere,  or  act  like  a  man.  For  instance,  if  I  should  be  com- 
manded by  an  angel  from  heaven  to  believe  it  is  midnight  at 
noonday,  yet  I  could  not  believe  him.  So,  if  I  were  directly 
told  in  Scripture  that  three  are  one  and  one  is  three,  I  could 
not  conceive  or  believe  it  in  the  natural  common  sense  of  that 
expression,  but  must  suppose  that  something  dark  or  mystical 
was  meant,  which  it  pleased  God  to  conceal  from  me  and  from 
all  the  world.  Thus,  in  the  text,  "  There  are  three  that  bear 
record,"  &c.,  am  I  capable  of  knowing  and  defining  what  union 
and  what  distinction  there  may  be  in  the  Divine  nature  ?  which 
possibly  may  be  hid  from  the  angels  themselves.  Again,  I  see 
it  plainly  declared  in  Scripture  that  there  is  but  one  God,  and 


MYSTERIES.  1-59 

yet  I  find  our  Saviour  claiming  the  prerogative  of  God  in  know- 
ing men's  tliougMs,  in  saying  He  and  His  father  are  one,  and 
"  Before  Abraham  was,  I  am."  I  read  that  the  disciples  wor- 
shipped Hinij  that  Thomas  said  to  Him,  "My  Lord  and  my 
God."  And  St  John,  chap.  i. — "In  the  beginning  was  the  Word, 
and  the  Word  was  with  God,  and  the  Word  was  God."  I  read 
likewise,  that  the  Holy  Ghost  bestowed  the  gift  of  tongues  and 
the  power  of  working  miracles,  which,  if  rightly  considered,  is 
as  great  a  miracle  as  any,  that  a  number  of  ilhterate  men 
should  of  a  sudden  be  qualified  to  speak  all  the  languages  then 
known  in  the  world,  such  as  could  be  done  by  the  inspiration 
of  God  alone.  From  these  several  texts  it  is  plain  that  God 
commandeth  us  to  believe  there  is  a  union  and  there  is  a  dis- 
tinction; but  what  that  union,  or  what  that  distinction  is,  all 
mankind  are  equally  ignorant,  and  must  continue  so,  at  least 
till  the  day  of  judgment,  without  some  new  revelation 

Therefore  I  shall  again  repeat  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  as 
it  is  positively  affirmed  in  Scripture :  That  God  is  there  ex- 
pressed in  three  different  names,  as  Father,  as  Son,  and  as 
Holy  Ghost ;  that  each  of  these  is  God,  and  that  there  is  but 
one  God.  But  this  union  and  distinction  are  a  mystery 
utterly  unknown  to  mankind. 

This  is  enough  for  any  good  Christian  to  believe  on  this 
great  article,  without  ever  inc[uiring  any  further  :  and  this 
can  be  contrary  to  no  man's  reason,  although  the  knowledge 
of  it  is  hid  from  him. 

But  there  is  another  difficulty  of  great  importance  among 
those  who  quarrel  with  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  as  well  as 
with  several  other  articles  of  Christianity;  which  is,  that  our 
religion  abounds  in  mysteries,  and  these  they  are  so  bold  to 
revile  as  cant,  imposture,  and  priestcraft.  It  is  impossible  for 
us  to  determine  for  what  reasons  God  thought  fit  to  communi- 
cate some  things  to  us  in  part,  and  leave  some  part  a  mystery. 
But  so  it  is  in  fiict,  and  so  the  Holy  Scripture  tells  us  in 


160  PULPIT  OEATORS. 

severcal  places.  For  instance :  The  resurrection  and  cliange  of 
our  bodies  are  called  mysteries  by  Saint  Paul ;  our  Saviour's 
incarnation  is  another:  The  Kingdom  of  God  is  called  a 
mystery  by  our  Saviour,  to  be  only  known  to  His  disciples ;  so 
is  faith,  and  the  Word  of  God  by  Saint  Paul :  I  omit  many 
others.  So,  that  to  declare  against  all  mysteries  without 
distinction  or  excejition,  is  to  declare  against  the  whole  tenor  of 
the  New  Testament. 

There  are  two  conditions  that  may  bring  a  mystery  under 
suspicion.  First,  when  it  is  not  taught  and  commanded  in 
Holy  Writ;  or,  secondly,  when  the  mystery  turns  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  those  Avho  preach  it  to  others.  Now,  as  to  the 
first,  it  can  never  be  said,  that  we  preach  mysteries  without 
warrant  from  Holy  Scripture,  although  I  confess  this  of  the 
Trinity  may  have  sometimes  been  explained  by  human  inven- 
tion, which  might  perhaps  better  have  been  spared.  As  to  the 
second;  it  will  not  be  possible  to  charge  the  Protestant  priest- 
hood with  proposing  any  temporal  advantage  to  themselves  by 
broaching  or  multiplying,  or  preaching  of  mysteries.  Does 
this  mystery  of  the  Trinity,  for  instance,  and  the  descent  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  bring  the  least  profit  or  power  to  the 
preachers?  No;  it  is  as  great  a  mystery  to  themselves  as  it  is 
to  the  meanest  of  their  hearers ;  and  may  be  rather  a  cause  of 
humiliation,  by  putting  their  understanding  in  that  point  upon 
a  level  with  the  most  ignorant  of  their  flock.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  the  Roman  Church  hath  very  much  enriched  herself 
by  trading  in  mysteries,  for  which  they  have  not  the  least 
authority  from  Scripture,  and  were  fitted  only  to  advance  their 
own  temporal  wealth  and  grandeur ;  such  as  transubstantiation, 
worshipping  of  images,  indulgences  for  sins,  purgatory,  and 
masses  for  the  dead ;  with  many  more.  But  it  is  the  perpetual 
taunt  of  those  who  have  ill-will  to  our  church,  or  a  contempt 
for  all  religion,  taken  up  by  the  mckedness  of  their  lives,  to 
charge  us  with  the  errors  and  corruptions  of  Popery,  which  all 


MYSTERIES  AN  OCCASION  FOE  FAITH.  161 

Protestants  liave  thrown  off  near  two  liundred  years  :  where- 
as those  mysteries  held  by  us  have  no  prospect  of  power,  pomp, 
or  wealth,  but  have  been  ever  maintained  by  the  universal 
body  of  true  believers  from  the  days  of  the  apostles,  and  will 
be  so  to  the  resurrection;  neither  will  the  gates  of  hell  prevail 
against  them. 

It  may  be  thought  perhaps  a  strange  thing,  that  God  should 
require  us  to  believe  mysteries,  while  the  reason  or  manner  of 
what  we  are  to  believe  is  above  our  comprehension,  and  wholly 
concealed  from  us :  neither  doth  it  appear  at  first  sight,  that 
the  believing  or  not  believing  them  doth  concern  either  the 
glory  of  God,  or  contribute  to  the  goodness  or  wickedness  of 
our  lives.  But  this  is  a  great  and  dangerous  mistake.  We  see 
what  a  mighty  weight  is  laid  upon  faith,  both  in  the  Old  and 
Nev>^  Testament.  In  the  former  we  read  how  the  faith  of 
Abraham  is  praised,  who  could  believe  that  God  would  raise 
from  him  a  great  nation,  at  the  very  same  time  that  he  was 
commanded  to  sacrifice  his  only  son,  and  despaired  of  any 
other  issue.  And  this  was  to  him  a  great  mystery.  Our 
Saviour  is  perpetually  preaching  faith  to  His  disciples,  or  re- 
proaching them  with  the  want  of  it ;  and  Saint  Paul  produc- 
eth  numerous  examples  of  the  wonders  done  by  faith.  And 
all  this  is  highly  reasonable ;  for,  faith  is  an  entire  dependence 
upon  the  truth,  the  power,  the  justice,  and  the  mercy  of  God; 
which  dependence  will  certainly  incline  us  to  obey  Him  in  all 
things.  So,  that  the  great  excellency  of  faith,  consisteth  in 
the  consequence  it  hath  upon  our  actions :  as,  if  we  depend 
upon  the  truth  and  wisdom  of  a  man,  we  shall  certainly  be 
more  disposed  to  follow  his  advice.  Therefore,  let  no  man 
think  that  he  can  lead  as  good  a  moral  life  without  faith,  as 
with  it ;  for  this  reason,  because  he  who  hath  no  faith,  cannot, 
by  the  strength  of  his  own  reason  or  endeavours,  so  easily 
resist  temptations,  as  the  other  who  depends  upon  God's 
assistance  in  the  overcoming  his  frailtieS;  and  is  sure  to  be  re- 

o2 


162  PULPIT  OEATORS. 

warded  for  ever  in  heaven  for  Ids  victory  over  tliem.  Faith, 
says  the  apostle,  is  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen :  He  means, 
that  faith  is  a  virtue  by  which  anything  commanded  us  by 
God  to  believe,  appears  evident  and  certain  to  us,  although  we 
do  not  see,  nor  can  conceive  it;  because,  by  faith  we  entirely 
depend  upon  the  truth  and  i:>ower  of  God. 

It  is  an  old  and  true  distinction,  that  things  may  be  above 
our  reason  without  being  contrary  to  it.  Of  this  kind  are  the 
power,  the  nature,  and  the  universal  presence  of  God,  with 
innumerable  other  points.  How  little  do  those  who  c[uarrel 
with  mysteries,  know  of  the  commonest  actions  of  nature? 
The  growth  of  an  animal,  of  a  plant,  or  of  the  smallest  seed, 
is  a  mystery  to  the  wisest  among  men.  If  an  ignorant  person 
were  told  that  a  load- stone  would  draw  iron  at  a  distance,  he 
might  say  it  was  a  thing  contrary  to  his  reason,  and  could  not 
believe  before  he  saw  it  with  his  eyes. 

The  manner  whereby  the  soul  and  body  are  united,  and 
how  they  are  distinguished,  is  wholly  unaccountable  to  us. 
We  see  but  one  part,  and  yet  we  know  we  consist  of  two;  and 
this  is  a  mystery  we  cannot  comprehend,  any  more  than  that 
of  the  Trinity. 

From  what  hath  been  said,  it  is  manifest,  that  God  did 
never  command  us  to  believe,  nor  His  ministers  to  preach,  any 
doctrine  which  is  contrary  to  the  reason  He  hath  pleased  to 
endow  us  with;  but  for  His  own  Avise  ends  has  thought  fit  to 
conceal  from  us  the  nature  of  the  thing  He  commands;  there- 
by to  try  our  faith  and  obedience,  and  increase  our  dependence 
njDon  Him. 

It  is  highly  probable,  that  if  God  should  please  to  reveal 
unto  us  this  great  mystery  of  the  Trinity,  or  some  other 
mysteries  in  our  holy  religion,  we  should  not  be  able  to  under- 
stand them,  unless  He  would  at  the  same  time  think  fit  to 
bestow  on  us  some  new  powers  or  faculties  of  the  miiid,  which 
we  want  at  i>resent,  and  are  reserved  till  the  day  of  rcsurrcc- 


SEED.  1G3 

tion  to  life  eternal.     "  For  now,"  as  tlie  Apostle  says,  "  v/e  see 
tliroiigh  a  glass  darkly,  but  then  face  to  face." 

Thus,  we  see,  the  matter  is  brought  to  this  issue ;  we  must 
either  believe  Avhat  God  directly  commandeth  us  in  Holy 
Scripture,  or  we  must  wholly  reject  the  Scripture,  and  the 
Christian  rehgion  which  w^e  pretend  to  profess  :  But  this,  I 
hope,  is  too  desperate  a  step  for  any  of  us  to  make. 

JEREMIAH   SEED. 

Of  this  excellent  preacher  we  only  know  that  he  was  born 
near  Penrith  in  Cumberland,  that  he  studied  at  Queen's  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  and  that,  after  spending  most  of  his  ministerial 
life  as  curate  to  Dr  Waterland  at  Twickenham,  he  was  j^re- 
sented  to  Enham  in  Hampshire,  where  he  died  in  1747. 

That  century  yielded  no  sermons  more  practical  or  more 
pleasing.  Seed  did  not  fight  uncertainly,  or  "  as  one  that 
beateth  the  air,"  but  most  of  his  topics  are  precise,  and  their 
illustrations  if  minute  and  home-coming.  At  the  same  tmie, 
his  language  is  remarkably  lively,  and  every  paragraph  carries 
the  double  charm  of  a  brilliant  ftmcy  and  a  benevolent  per- 
suasiveness. Unlike  his  colder  contemporaries,  he  indulges 
freely  in  figurative  language,  and,  both  in  their  conception  and 
their  w^ording,  his  metaphors  are  often  worthy  of  a  poet.  "  To 
a  mind  that  is  all  harmony  within,  the  Deity  must  appear  like 
what  He  is,  in  perfect  beauty,  all-loving  and  all-lovely,  with- 
out any  forbidding  and  frightening  appearances  :  just  as  a 
deep  stream,  when  clear  and  unruffled  by  any  storm,  repre- 
sents the  sun  and  firmament  in  a  gentler  and  milder  lustre,  fiir 
more  beautiful  itself  by  reflecting  the  beauties  of  heaven." 
"  We  must  consult  the  gentlest  manner  and  softest  seasons  of 
address.  Our  advice  must  not  fall,  like  a  violent  storm,  bear- 
ing down  and  making  that  to  droop  which  it  was  meant  to 
cherish  and  refresh  :  it  must  descend  as  the  dew  upon  the 


1G4  PULPIT  OEATOES. 

tender  herb,  or  like  melting  flakes  of  snow;  the  softer  it  falls, 
the  longer  it  dwells  upon,  and  the  deeper  it  sinks  into  the 
mind."' 

The  meanest  mechanic,  who  employs  his  love  and  gratitude, 
the  best  of  his  aflections,  upon  God,  the  best  of  beings ;  who 
has  a  particular  regard  and  esteem  for  the  virtuous  few,  com- 
passion for  the  distressed,  and  a  fixed  and  extensive  good-mil 
for  all;  who,  instead  of  triumphing  over  his  enemies,  strives 
to  subdue  his  greatest  enemy  of  all,  his  unruly  passion ;  who 
promotes  a  good  understanding  between  neighbours,  composes 
and  adjusts  differences,  does  justice  to  an  injured  character, 
and  acts  of  charity  to  distressed  worth ;  who  cherishes  his 
friends,  forgives  his  enemies,  and  even  serves  them  in  any 
pressing  exigency ;  who  abhors  vice,  and  pities  the  vicious  per- 
son; such  a  man,  however  low  in  station,  has  juster  preten- 
sions to  the  title  of  heroism,  as  heroism  implies  a  certain  noble- 
ness and  elevation  of  soul,  breaking  forth  into  correspondent 
actions;  than  he  who  conquers  armies,  or  makes  the  most 
glaring  figure  in  the  eye  of  an  injudicious  world.  He  is  like 
one  of  the  fixed  stars,  which  though,  through  the  disadvantage 
of  its  situation,  it  may  be  thought  to  be  very  little,  inconsider- 
able, and  obscure  by  unskilful  beholders ;  yet  is  as  truly  great 
and  glorious  in  itself  as  those  heavenly  lights,  which  by  being 
placed  more  commodiously  for  our  view,  'shine  with  more  dis- 
tinguished lustre. 

©fcupiitfon  for  i\}t  ©ptilent. 

The  apostle's  rule,  that  if  any  man  will  not  work,  neither 
should  he  eat,  extends  to  the  rich  as  well  as  poor;  only  suj)- 
posing,  that  there  are  difterent  kinds  of  work  assigned  to 
each.     Tlic  reason  is  tlie  same  in  both  cases,  viz.  that  lie,  who 


WOEK  FOR  ALL.  1G5 

will  do  no  good,  ought  not  to  receive  or  enjoy  any.  As  we  all 
are  joint  traders  and  partners  in  life,  he  forfeits  his  right  to 
any  share  in  the  common  stock  of  happiness,  who  does  not 
endeavour  to  contribute  his  quota  or  allotted  part  to  it :  the 
public  happiness  being  nothing,  but  the  sum  total  of  each 
individual's  contribution  to  it.  An  easy  fortune  does  not  set 
men  free  from  labour  and  industry  in  general;  it  only  exempts 
them  from  some  particular  kinds  of  labour.  It  is  not  a  bless- 
ing, as  it  gives  them  liberty  to  do  nothing  at  all:  but  as  it 
gives  them  liberty  wisely  to  choose  and  steadily  to  prosecute  the 
most  ennobling  exercises,  and  the  most  improving  employments, 
the  pursuit  of  truth,  the  practice  of  virtue,  the  service  of  that 
God,  who  giveth  them  all  things  richly  to  enjoy,  in  short  the 
doing  and  being  everything  that  is  commendable:  though 
nothing  merely  in  order  to  be  commended.  That  time,  which 
others  must  employ  in  tilling  the  ground  (which  often  deceives 
their  expectation)  with  the  sweat  of  their  brow,  they  may  lay 
out  in  cultivating  the  mind,  a  soil  always  grateful  to  the  care 
of  the  tiller.  The  sum  of  what  I  would  say  is  this:  That, 
though  you  are  not  confined  to  any  particular  calling,  yet  you 
have  a  general  one :  Vvdiich  is  to  watch  over  your  heart,  and  to 
improve  joiiv  head;  to  make  yourself  master  of  all  those 
accomplishments,  viz.  an  enlarged  compass  of  thought,  that 
flowing  humanity,  and  generosity,  vv'hich  are  necessary  to  be- 
come a  great  fortune ;  and  of  all  those  perfections,  viz.  mode- 
ration, humility,  and  temperance,  which  are  necessary  to  bear 
a  small  one  patiently ;  but  especially  it  is  your  duty  to  acquire 
a  taste  for  those  pleasures,  which,  after  they  are  tasted,  go  off 
agreeably,  and  leave  behind  them  a  grateful  and  delightful 
flavour  on  the  mind. 

Hai>py  that  man,  who,  unembarrassed  by  vulgar  cares, 
master  of  himself,  his  time  and  fortune,  spends  his  time  in 
making  himself  wiser,  and  his  fortune  in  making  others  (and 
therefore  himself),  hajipier ;  who,  as  the  will  and  understanding 


166  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

are  the  two  ennobling  faculties  of  the  soul,  thinks  himself  not 
complete,  till  his  understanding  be  beautified  with  the  valuable 
furniture  of  knowledge ;  as  well  as  his  will  enriched  with  every 
■virtue :  who  has  furnished  liimself  with  all  the  advantages  to 
relish  sohtude,  and  enliven  conversation ;  when  serious,  not 
sullen;  and  when  cheerful,  not  indiscreetly  gay;  his  ambition 
not  to  be  admired  for  a  false  glare  of  greatness,  but  to  be  be- 
loved for  the  gentle  and  sober  lustre  of  his  wisdom  and  good- 
ness. The  greatest  minister  of  state  has  not  more  business  to 
do  in  a  pubhc  capacity,  than  he,  and  indeed  every  man  else, 
may  find  in  the  retired  and  still  scenes  of  life.  Even  in  his 
private  walks,  everything  that  is  visible  convinceth  him,  there 
is  present  a  bemg  invisible.  Aided  by  natural  philosophy,  he 
reads  plain  legible  traces  of  the  Divinity  in  everything  he 
meets :  he  sees  the  Deity  in  every  tree,  as  well  as  Moses  did 
ill  the  burning  bush,  though  not  in  so  glaring  a  manner  :  and 
when  He  sees  him.  He  adores  him  ^^ith  the  tribute  of  a  grate- 
ful heart. 

TOit  i$ltstiirjttet(. 

He  who  endeavours  to  oblige  the  company  by  his  good-nature, 
never  fails  of  being  beloved :  he  who  strives  to  entertain  it  by 
Ins  good  sense,  never  fails  of  being  esteemed :  but  he  who  is 
continually  aiming  to  be  witty,  generally  miscarries  of  his  aim : 
his  aim  and  intention  is  to  be  admired,  but  it  is  his  mis- 
fortune either  to  be  despised  or  detested;  to  be  despised  for 
w^ant  of  judgment,  or  detested  for  want  of  humanity.  For  we 
seldom  admire  the  wit,  when  we  dislike  the  man.  There  are 
a  great  many,  to  whom  the  world  would  be  so  charitable,  as  to 
allow  them  to  have  a  tolerable  share  of  common  sense ;  if  they 
did  not  set  up  for  something  more  than  common,  something 
very  uncommon,  bright  and  witty.  If  we  would  trace  the 
faults  of  conversation  up  to  their  original  source,  most  of  them 
might,  I  believe,  ])e  resolved  into  this,  that  men  had  rather 


DAILY  DEVOTIO]S'.  167 

appear  shining,  than  be  agreeable  in  company.  They  are 
endeavouring  to  raise  admiration,  instead  of  gaining  love  and 
good-^\dll:  whereas  the  latter  is  in  everybody's  power,  the 
former  in  that  of  very  few. 

Bails  Bcbotiotr. 

Degenerate  souls,  wedded  to  their  vicious  habits,  may  dis- 
claim all  commerce  with  heaven,  refusing  to  invoke  Him,  whose 
infinite  wisdom  is  ever  prompt  to  discern,  and  His  bounty  to 
relieve  the  wants  of  those  who  faithfully  call  upon  him ;  and 
neglecting  to  praise  Him,  who  is  great  and  marvellous  in  His 
works,  just  and  righteous  in  His  ways,  infinite  and  incompre- 
hensible in  His  nature :  but  all  here,  I  would  persuade  myself, 
will  daily  set  apart  some  time  to  think  on  Him,  who  gave  us 
power  to  think :  He  was  the  author,  and  He  should  be  the 
object  of  our  faculties. 

And  to  do  this  the  better,  let  us  take  care  that  every  morn- 
ing, as  soon  as  we  rise,  we  lay  hold  on  this  proper  season  of 
address,  and  offer  up  to  God  the  first-fruits  of  our  thoughts, 
yet  fresh,  unsullied,  and  serene,  before  a  busy  swarm  of  vain 
images  crowd  in  upon  the  mind,  when  the  spirits  just  refreshed 
with  sleep  are  brisk  and  active,  and  rejoice,  like  that  sun, 
which  ushers  in  the  day,  to  run  their  course ;  when  all  nature 
just  awakened  into  being  from  insensibility  pays  its  early 
homage ;  then  let  us  join  in  the  universal  chorus,  who  are  the 
only  creatures  in  the  visible  creation  capable  of  knowing  to 
whom  it  is  to  be  addressed. 

And  in  the  evening,  when  the  stillness  of  the  night  invites 
to  solemn  thoughts,  after  we  have  collected  our  straggling 
ideas,  and  suffered  not  a  reflection  to  stir,  but  what  either  looks 
upward  to  God,  or  inward  upon  ourselves,  upon  the  state  of 
our  minds;  then  let  us  scan  over  each  action  of  the  day — fer- 
vently entreat  God's  pardon  for  what  we  have  done  amiss,  and 


1G8  PULPIT  OPATORS. 

the  gracious  assistance  of  His  spirit  for  tlie  future :  and,  after 
having  adjusted  accounts  between  our  Maker  and  ourselves, 
commit  ourselves  to  His  care  for  the  following  nigiit. 

Thus  beginning  and  closing  the  day  with  devotion,  implor- 
ing His  direction,  every  morning  as  we  rise,  for  the  following 
day;  and  recommending  ourselves  every  night  before  we  lie 
down,  to  His  protection,  who  neither  slumbers  nor  sleeps ;  the 
intermediate  spaces  will  be  better  filled  up :  each  line  of  our 
behaviour  will  terminate  in  God,  as  the  centre  of  our  actions. 
Our  lives  all  of  a  piece  will  constitute  one  regular  whole,  to 
which  each  part  will  bear  a  necessary  relation  and  correspon- 
dence, without  any  broken  and  disjointed  schemes,  independent 
of  this  grand  end,  the  pleasing  of  God.  And  while  v/e  have 
this  one  point  in  view,  whatever  variety  there  may  be  in  our 
actions,  there  \\t11  be  an  uniformity  too,  which  constitutes  the 
beauty  of  life,  just  as  it  does  of  everything  else ;  ajl  uniformity 
without  being  dull  and  tedious,  and  a  variety  without  bemg 
■s\ild  and  irregular. 

How  would  this  settle  the  ferment  of  our  youthful  passions, 
and  sweeten  the  last  dregs  of  our  advanced  age  !  How  would 
this  make  our  lives  yield  the  calmest  satisfaction,  as  some 
flowers  shed  the  most  fragrant  odours,  just  at  the  close  of  the 
day !  And  perhaps  there  is  no  better  way  to  prevent  a  dead- 
ness  and  flatness  of  spirit  from  succeeding,  when  the  briskness 
of  our  passions  goes  off,  than  to  acquire  an  early  taste  for 
those  spiritual  delights,  whose  leaf  withers  not,  and  whose 
verdure  remains  in  the  winter  of  our  days. 

And  when  this  transitory  scene  is  shutting  upon  us,  when 
the  soul  stands  upon  the  threshold  of  another  world,  just  ready 
to  take  its  everlasting  flight ;  then  may  we  think  Avith  unal- 
layed  pleasure  on  God,  when  there  can  be  little  or  no  pleasure 
to  think  upon  anything  else.  And  our  souls  may  undauntedly 
follow  to  that  place,  whither  our  prayers  and  affections,  those 
forerunners  of  the  spirit,  are  gone  before. 


BOEEHAAVE SOCRATES.  1G9 

One  of  the  greatest  pliilosopliers  of  tliis  age*  being  asked 
by  a  fiiend,  who  had  often  admired  his  patience  under  great 
provocations,  by  what  means  he  had  suppressed  his  anger 
answered,  "  that  he  was  naturally  quick  of  resentment ;  but 
that  he  had  by  daily  prayer  and  meditation  attained  to  this 
mastery  over  himself.  As  soon  as  he  arose  in  the  morning,  it 
was,  throughout  his  life,  his  daily  practice  to  retire  for  an  hour 
to  private  prayer  and  meditation.  This,  he  often  told  his 
friends,  gave  him  si:)irit  and  \'igour  for  the  business  of  the  day. 
This  he  therefore  recommended  as  the  best  rule  of  life.  For 
nothing  he  knew  could  support  the  soul  in  all  distresses  but 
a  confidence  in  the  Supreme  Being.  Nor  can  a  rational  and 
steady  mag-nanimity  flow  from  any  other  source  than  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  Divine  favour." 

Of  Socrates,  who  is  said  to  have  gained  an  ascendant  over 
his  passions,  it  is  reported  that  his  life  was  full  of  prayers  and 
addresses  to  God. 

And  of  Confucius,  the  Chinese  philosopher,  another  gTeat 
example  of  virtue,  it  is  expressly  recorded,  that  (contrary  to  a 
fashion  now  prevailing)  he  never  did  eat  of  anything,  but  he 
first  prostrated  himself,  and  offered  thanks  to  the  supreme 
Lord  of  heaven. 

Leave  not  oft'  praying,  said  a  pious  man :  for  either  praying 
\Yi\l  make  thee  leave  off  sinning,  or  sinning  will  make  thee 
leave  off  praying.  If  we  say  our  prayers  in  a  cold,  supine,  life- 
less manner  now  and  then,  I  know  no  other  effect  they  wdll 
have,  but  to  enhance  our  condemnation.  In  effect  we  do  not 
pray,  we  only  say  our  prayers.  We  pay  not  the  tribute  of  the 
heart,  but  an  unmeaning  form  of  homage;  we  draw  near  to 
God  with  our  lips,  while  our  heart  is  far  from  him.  And 
without  perseverance  in  prayer,  the  notions  of  the  amendment 
of  our  lives,  and  a  sacred  regard  to  the  Deity,  will  only  float 
for  a  while  in  the  head  without  sinking  deep,  or  dwelling  long 

*  Boerbaave. 
VOL.  IV.  P 


170  PULPIT  ORATOKS. 

upon  the  heart.  We  must  be  inured  to  a  con-stant  intercourse 
with  God,  to  have  our  minds  engaged  and  interested,  and  to 
be  rooted  and  grounded  in  the  love  of  Him.  But,  if  we  in- 
vigorate our  petitions,  which  are  otherwise  a  lifeless  carcase, 
with  a  serious  and  attentive  spirit,  composed,  but  not  dull ; 
affectionate,  but  not  passionate  in  our  addresses  to  God — 
praying  in  this  sense  will  at  last  make  us  leave  off  sinning ; 
and  victory,  decisive  victory,  declare  itself  in  favour  of  virtue. 

BISHOP  SHERLOCK. 

Thomas  Sherlock,  son  of  the  dean  of  St  Paul's,  was  born 
in  London  in  1678.  From  Eton  he  was  transferred  to  Catha- 
rine HaU,  Cambridge,  and  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  his  age, 
was  elevated  to  the  mastership  of  the  Temple.  In  1716  he 
obtained  the  deanery  of  Chichester.  In  1728  he  was  created 
bishop  of  Bangor,  from  which,  in  1734,  he  was  translated  to 
Salisbury,  and  in  1 748  he  succeeded  Dr  Gibson  as  bishop  of 
London.     He  died  at  Fulham,  July  18,  1761. 

With  their  clear  arrangement,  their  calm  reasoning,  their 
air  of  scholarship,  and  their  graceful  style,  Sherlock's  discourses 
were  well  adapted  to  an  audience  at  once  learned  and  logical. 
At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  allowed,  that  such  spirit  as  they 
once  possessed  has  now  well-nigh  evaporated.  There  is  still 
infidelity,  and,  it  may  be  feared,  not  a  little  latent  unbelief 
amongst  respectable  church-goers ;  but  it  would  be  labour  lost 
were  a  modern  preacher  to  exjDatiate,  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
on  such  points  as  the  sincerity  of  the  apostles,  and  the  supe- 
riority of  Christianity  to  Mahommedanism  and  Paganism. 

"  It  is  said  that  when  Dr  Nicholls  waited  upon  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Hardwicke,  with  the  first  volume  of  '  Sherlock's  Ser- 
mons,' in  November  1753,  liis  Lordship  asked  him  whether 
there  was  not  a  sermon  on  John  xx.  30,  31  ?  and  on  his  reply- 
ing in  the  affirmative,  desired  him  to  turn  to  the  conclusion. 


SHERLOCK.  171 

and  repeated  verhatim  the  animated  contrast  between  tlie 
Mahommedan  and  Christian  religion,  begining,  '  Go  to  your 
natural  religion,'  &c.  Yet  it  was  thirty  years  since  that 
sermon  had  been  published  singly.  Such  was  the  impression 
it  made  on  Lord  Hardwicke.  This  interesting  anecdote,  how- 
ever, would  want  some  of  its  ejffect,  if  we  did  not  add  that  at 
a  later  period,  Dr  Blair,  in  his  '  Lectures  on  Rhetoric,' 
pointed  out  this  identical  passage  as  an  instance  of  personifica- 
tion, carried  as  far  as  prose,  even  in  its  highest  elevation,  wiU 
admit.  After  transcribing  it,  Blair  adds,  '  This  is  more  than 
elegant;  it  is  truly  subHme.'"* 

^Stfsti'anitg  attt(  its  Competitors. 

The  law  of  Moses  was  published  and  declared  with  great 
solemnity,  and  by  persons  every  way  qualified  :  it  contains  a 
rule  or  system  of  rehgion,  and  is  still  maintained  by  its  dis- 
ciples in  opposition  to  the  gospel.  Here  then,  perhaps,  may 
seem  to  be  some  difficulty,  when  two  revelations,  that  have 
equal  ^pleas  to  truth,  are  set  in  competition  one  against  the 
other.  This  c[uestion  must  be  argued  upon  difierent  principles 
with  Jews,  and  mth  other  men ;  for  the  law  was  given  and 
declared  to  the  Jews,  and  they  were  under  the  obligations  of 
it :  they  therefore  are  concerned  to  inquire,  not  only  of  the 
truth  of  a  subsequent  revelation,  but  also  whether  it  does  suffi- 
ciently abrogate  their  law,  or  whether  it  is  to  subsist  with  it ; 
as  likewise  whether  their  law  has  anywhere  precluded  them 
from  admitting  any  further  revelations.  But  to  us  the  ques- 
tion is,  how  we  are  concerned  with  the  law,  and  whether  there 
can  be  any  competition  with  respect  to  us  between  the  law  and 
the  gospel.  From  the  principles  already  mentioned,  we  may 
soon  determine  this  question  :  for  it  is  plain  that  no  revelation 
can  oblige  those  to  whom  it  is  not  given  ;  that  promulgation  is 
*  "  Chalmers's  Biographical  Dictionary,"  Art.  Sherlock. 


172  PULPIT  OEATOKS. 

SO  far  of  the  essence  of  tlie  law,  tliat  no  man  in  reason  oi 
equity  owes  any  obligation  to  a  law  till  it  is  made  known  tc 
him ;  that  the  obligations,  therefore,  of  a  law  are  limited  b} 
the  terms  of  the  promulgation.  Apply  this  to  the  law  o^ 
Moses ;  you  will  find  that  law,  in  the  very  promulgation  of  it 
confined  to  the  people  of  Israel :  Hear,  0  Israel !  is  the  uitro 
duction  to  the  promulgation;  which  it  could  not  have  beer 
had  the  law  been  designed  for  the  w^hole  world.  And  this  vvai 
known  to  be  the  case  under  the  law.  Moses,  who  best  under 
stood  the  extent  of  his  own  commission,  says  thus  to  the  peopL 
of  Israel :  "  What  nation  is  there  so  great,  that  hath  statutei 
and  judgments  so  righteous,  as  all  this  law  which  I  set  befon 
you  this  day?"  (Deut.  iv.  8).  The  holy  Psalmist  expresses  th( 
same  sense  in  these  words  :  ^'  He  sheweth  his  word  unto  Jacob 
his  statutes  and  his  judgments  unto  Israel.  He  hath  not  deal 
so  with  any  nation  :  and  as  for  his  judgments,  they  have  no 
known  them"  (Ps.  cxlvii.  19,  20).  From  all  which  it  i 
evident,  that  the  law  of  Moses  has  no  claim  to  our  obedience 
The  moral  part  of  the  law,  when  understood,  will  oblige  ever 
rational  creature ;  but  this  is  not  the  obligation  we  are  no\ 
speaking  of.  The  law  of  Moses,  then,  cannot  add  to  the  num 
ber  of  revelations  which  create  us  any  difficulty  in  determining 
ourselves  :  for,  let  the  case  happen  as  it  will,  we  are  free  fron 
the  law.  But  the  law  affords  even  to  us  abundant  evidenc 
for  the  truth  of  the  gospel.  The  proofs  from  prophecy  are  a 
convincing  to  us  as  to  the  Jews  :  for  it  matters  not  whether  w 
are  under  the  law,  or  not  under  the  law,  since  conviction,  v. 
this  case,  arises  from  another  and  different  principle.  But 
hasten  to  a  conclusion. 

Let  us  then  consider  briefly,  what  alteration  has  happened 
since  the  coming  of  Christ  to  disturb  and  unsettle  our  juds 
ments  in  this  great  affair.  A  man,  perhaps,  who  is  a  grea 
reader,  may  be  able  to  produce  many  instances  of  impostor 
since  that  time,  and  imagine  that  they  are  all  so  many  dea( 


JESUS  AND  MAHOMET.  173 

weights  upon  the  cause  of  revelation  :  but  what  is  become  of 
them,  and  their  doctrine?  they  are  vanished,  and  their  place 
is  not  to  be  found.  What  pretence  is  there  then  to  set  up 
these  revelations?  Is  God  grown  so  weak  and  impotent,  that 
we  may  suppose  these  to  be  His  revelations,  and  intended  for 
the  use  of  the  world,  had  He  not  been  baffled  at  first  setting 
out?  If  God  intends  a  law  for  the  use  of  the  world,  He  is 
obliged,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  to  publish  the  law  to  the 
world:  and,  therefore,  want  of  such  publication  evidently 
shews  that  God  was  not  concerned  in  them,  or  at  least  did  not 
intend  that  we  should  be  concerned  in  them  :  and  therefore 
it  is  absurd  to  instance  in  such  pretences  as  difficulties  in  our 
way,  which  in  truth  are  not  in  our  way  at  all. 

And  thus  the  case  of  revelation  stood,  and  the  gospel  had 
no  competitor,  tiU  the  great  and  successful  impostor  Mahomet 
arose.  He,  indeed,  pretended  a  commission  to  all  the  world,  and 
found  means  sufficient  to  publish  his  pretences.  He  asserts 
his  authority  upon  the  strength  of  revelation,  and  endeavours 
to  transfer  the  advantages  of  the  gospel  evidence  to  himself, 
having  that  pattern  before  him  to  copy  after.  And,  should 
we  say  that  the  alcoran  was  never  promulged  to  us  by  persons 
duly  commissioned,  it  may  be  answered  perhaps,  that  the 
alcoran  is  as  well  published  to  us  as  the  gospel  is  to  them, 
which  has  some  appearance  of  an  answer,  though  the  fact  is 
indeed  othermse;  for  even  the  alcoran  owns  Jesus  for  a  true 
prophet. 

But  with  respect  to  this  instance  I  persuade  myself  it  can 
be  no  very  distracting  study  to  find  reasons  to  determine  our 
choice.  Go  to  your  natural  reUgion  :  lay  before  her  Mahomet 
and  his  disciples  arrayed  in  armour  and  in  blood,  riding  in 
triumph  over  the  spoils  of  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands, 
who  fell  by  his  victorious  sword :  shew  her  the  cities  which  he 
set  in  flames,  the  countries  which  he  ravished  and  destroyed, 
and  the  miserable  distress  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 

p  2 


174  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

When  she  has  viewed  him  in  this  scene,  carry  her  into  his  re- 
tirements: shew  her  the  prophet's  chamber,  his  concubines 
and  wives;  let  her  see  his  adultery,  and  hear  him  allege  reve- 
lation and  his  divine  commission  to  justify  his  lust  and  his 
oppression.  When  she  is  tired  with  this  prospect,  then  shew 
her  the  blessed  Jesus,  humble  and  meek,  doing  good  to  all  the 
sons  of  men,  patiently  instmcting  both  the  ignorant  and  per- 
verse. Let  her  see  Him  in  His  most  retired  privacies  :  let 
her  follow  Him  to  the  mount,  and  hear  His  devotions  and 
supplications  to  God.  Carry  her  to  His  table  to  view  His 
poor  fare,  and  hear  His  heavenly  discourse.  Let  her  see  Him 
injured  but  not  provoked :  let  her  attend  Him  to  the  tribunal, 
and  consider  the  patience  with  which  He  endured  the  scoffs 
and  reproaches  of  His  enemies.  Lead  her  to  His  cross;  and 
let  her  view  Him  in  the  agony  of  death,  and  hear  His  last 
prayer  for  His  persecutors :  "  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they 
know  not  what  they  do !" 

When  natural  religion  has  viewed  both,  ask.  Which  is  the 
prophet  of  God?  But  her  answer  we  have  already  had;  when 
she  saw  part  of  this  scene  through  the  eyes  of  the  centurion 
who  attended  at  the  cross;  by  him  she  spoke  and  said,  "Truly 
this  man  was  the  Son  of  God." 


ARCHBISHOP  SECKER. 

Not  so  rhetorical  as  Sherlock,  but  much  more  evangelical, 
the  sermons  of  Seeker  possess  an  element  of  more  enduring 
interest  in  the  eminently  practical  topics  to  which  most  of 
them  are  dedicated.  As  chaplain  to  the  king,  and  rector  of 
St  James's,  he  had  for  his  auditors  the  foremost  in  the  ranks 
of  wealth  and  fashion,  and  feeling  the  great  importance  of  his 
opportunity,  he  sought  to  meet  it  with  all  the  resources  placed 
at  his  disposal.  "  Though  he  neither  possessed  nor  affected 
the  artificial  eloquence  of  an  orator,  yet  he  had  that  of  an 


SECKER.  170 

honest  man  who  M'ants  to  convince,  of  a  Christian  preacher 
who  wants  to  reform  and  to  save  those  that  hear  him.  Solid 
arguments,  manly  sense,  useful  directions,  short,  nervous, 
striking  sentences,  awakening  questions,  frequent  and  xDertinent 
applications  of  Scripture;  all  these  following  each  other  in 
quick  succession,  and  coming  evidently  from  the  speaker's 
heart,  enforced  by  his  elocution,  his  figure,  his  action,  and 
above  all,  by  the  corresponding  sanctity  of  his  example, 
stamped  conviction  on  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  and  sent  them 
home  with  impressions  not  easy  to  be  ejffaced." " 

Thomas  Seeker  was  born  in  1693,  at  Sibthorp,  in  Notting- 
hamshire. His  father,  a  gentleman  farmer,  was  a  Dissenter, 
and  educated  his  son  with  a  view  to  the  Nonconformist  minis- 
try j  but,  in  some  degree  influenced  by  the  example  of  his 
friend  and  fellow-student,  Butler,  he  joined  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. His  first  preferment  was  Houghton  le  Spring,  in  the 
diocese  of  Durham,  from  which  he  was  transferred,  in  1733,  to 
the  rectory  of  St  James,  Westminster.  In  the  follomng  year 
he  was  promoted  to  the  see  of  Bristol,  and  in  1758  he  was- 
elevated  to  the  primacy.     He  died  August  3,  1768. 

^ntitiotes  to  ^ngcr. 

One  is,  that  we  avoid  forming  refined  and  romantic  notions  of 
human  perfection  in  anything.  For  these  are  much  apter  to 
heighten  our  expectations  from  others,  and  our  demands  upon 
them,  than  to  increase  our  Vs^atchfulness  over  ourselves  :  and 
so  every  failure  provokes  us  more  highly  than  it  would  have 
done  else.  A  sense  of  things,  too  delicate  for  our  nature  and 
the  state  in  which  we  live,  is  no  accomplishment,  but  an  in- 
firmity. And  overstrained  notions  of  friendship  and  honour, 
or  any  virtuous  attainment,  constantly  do  harm.  For  if  we 
fancy  ourselves  arrived  at  these  heights,  w^e  shall  resent  it  as 

^  "  Porteus'd  Life  of  Seeker,"  p.  28, 


176  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

profanation,  when  the  rest  of  the  world  treat  us  as  bemg  nearly 
on  the  level  with  them,  which  yet  they  certainly  will.  And  if 
we  go  to  measure  those  around  us  by  these  ideas,  we  shall 
look  on  persons,  whenever  we  have  a  mind  to  do  so,  as  mon- 
sters not  to  be  supported,  who,  m  a  reasonable  way  of  think- 
ing, would  appear  very  tolerably  good  people.  We  should 
therefore  endeavour,  by  frequent  reflection,  to  form  a  habit  of 
judging  with  moderation  concerning  our  neighbours  and  our- 
selves. Man  is  a  fallen  being,  defective  in  his  understanding, 
and  depraved  in  his  inclmations;  placed  in  circumstances,  in 
which  many  things  call  him  off  from  what  he  should  do,  many 
things  prompt  him  to  what  he  should  not  do;  and  often, 
before  he  hath  well  learned  to  distinguish  one  from  the  other, 

or  too  suddenly  for  him  to  apply  the  distinction  rightly 

Ahnost  every  one  is  apt  to  join  some  notion  of  peculiar 
dignity  to  his  own  person,  and  to  imagine  that  offences  are 
greatly  aggTavated  by  being  committed  against  him  ;  that  his 
character  and  concerns,  his  family  and  friends,  his  opuiions 
and  taste,  ought  to  be  treated  with  a  singular  degree  of  regard. 
But  then  really  we  should  remember,  that  multitudes  besides 
may  just  as  allowably  think  the  same  thing  of  theu's  ;  indeed, 
that  all  men  are  as  dear  to  themselves,  as  we  can  be  to  our- 
selves :  which  brmgs  us  back  so  far  upon  the  level  again.  And 
the  serious  consideration  of  it  must  surely  con\incc  us,  that 
our  common  interest,  as  well  as  our  duty,  is  to  tliink  and  act 
mildly ;  that  "  pride  was  not  made  for  man,  nor  furious  anger 
for  them  that  are  born  of  a  woman"  (Ecclus.  x.  18). 

Other  directions  must  be  given  more  briefly.  One  is  not  to 
indulge  ourselves  in  any  sort  of  over  great  niceness  and  deli- 
cacy :  fn-  it  hardly  ever  gives  real  pleasure,  and  it  furnishes 
perpetual  occasions  of  disgust  and  fretfulness.  Another  is,  to 
avoid  inquisitiveness  after  materials  for  anger  to  work  upon. 
It  is  better  not  to  hear  of  every  little  wi-ong  thing  that  is  done 
about  us,  or  said  of  us.     And  therefore  we  should  never  en- 


HELPS  TO  EQUANIMITY.  177 

courage  persons  in  the  officioiisness  of  acquainting  us  with 
them  needlessly  :  but  always  have  some  suspicion  of  such  as 
are  peculiarly  forw\arcl  in  it.  For  innumerable  are  the  fricnd- 
sliips  and  agreeable  acquaintances  that  have  been  broken  off, 
and  the  resentments  and  animosities  raised,  by  tales  and  insi- 
nuations of  this  kind,  either  wholly  or  in  part  false ;  or  idle 
and  trifling,  though  true.  Two  other  important  rules,  and 
closely  connected,  are  :  first,  never  to  engage  by  choice  in 
more  business  than  we  can  easily  manage ;  for  that,  by  caus- 
ing hurry  and  frequent  miscarriages,  will  certainly  cause  vexa- 
tion and  peevishness  :  then,  to  preserve  a  steady  attention  to 
what  we  do  engage  in.  Men  are  often  grossly  negligent  of  their 
affairs ;  and  afterwards  furiously  angry  at  those  disorders  in 
them,  for  which  they  themselves  are  almost,  if  not  cpiite,  as 
much  to  blame,  as  others.  Now,  regular  care  would  have 
prevented  mismanagement,  which  alternate  fits  of  remissness 
and  rage  will  never  do.  Indeed,  we  should  obviate,  as  far  as 
we  can,  everything  that  we  find  apt  to  ruffle  our  minds,  and 
carry  the  precaution  down  even  to  our  diversions  and  amuse- 
ments. For  some  of  these  have  often  so  very  bad  an  effect 
upon  the  temper,  that  not  to  apply  so  easy  a  remedy  as  laying 
them  aside  is  really  inexcusable.  Another  material  thing  to 
be  shunned,  is  familiarity  with  passionate  persons ;  not  only 
for  the  very  plain  reason,  lest  they  should  provoke  us,  but  also 
lest  their  example  should  infect  us.  "  Make  no  friendship 
with  an  angry  man,  and  with  a  furious  man  thou  shalt  not  go : 
lest  thou  learn  his  ways,  and  get  a  snare  to  thy  soul."  But  to 
converse  with  those  who  are  of  mild  dispositions,  to  observe 
how  they  take  things,  and  be  advised  by  them  how  we  should 
take  them,  will  be  of  unspeakable  service. 

These  are  preparations  before  danger.  When  it  approaches 
near,  the  main  point  is,  to  recollect  how  dreadful  it  would  be 
to  give  way  and  lose  ourselves,  and  to  resolve  that  we  will  not. 
Towards  keeping  this  resolution,  we  shall  find  it  one  great  pre- 


178  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

servativ^e,  though  it  may  seem  a  slight  matter,  not  to  let  the 
accent  of  our  speech,  or  any  one  of  our  gestures  be  vehement. 
For  these  things  excite  passion  mechanically ;  whereas  a  soft 
answer,  the  scripture  tells  us,  "  turneth  away  wi-ath : "  composes 
the  spirit  of  the  giver  himself,  as  well  as  the  receiver  of  it. 
Also  making  use  of  the  gentlest  and  least  gTating  terms  that 
we  can,  will  be  extremely  beneficial :  and  accordingly  it  fol- 
lows there,  that  "  grievous  words  stir  up  anger." 

But  if  such  begin  to  present  themselves,  and  struggle  for 
vent,  we  must  resolve  to  utter  as  few  of  any  sort  as  possible  : 
or,  if  it  become  requisite,  none  at  all ;  but  shut  fast  the  door 
of  our  lips,  till  the  mastiff  mthin  hath  done  barkuig,  as  is  re- 
lated to  have  been  the  practice  of  ^Socrates.  It  is  a  painful 
restraint;  but  if  we  will  remain  masters  of  ourselves,  it  is 
absolutely  necessary.  For  one  hasty  expression  bursting  out 
makes  freer  way  for  another,  till  at  last  the  banks  are  levelled, 
and  the  torrent  carries  all  before  it.  "A  patient  man,  therefore, 
will  bear  for  a  tune,  and  afterwards  joy  shall  spring  up  unto  him. 
He  will  hide  his  words  for  a  time,  and  the  lips  of  many  shall 
declare  his  wisdom"  (Ecclus.  i.  23,  24).  But,  above  all,  we  should 
inviolably  observe  never  to  act  in  a  heat.  Thoughts,  alas,  will 
be  too  quick  for  us  :  a  few  improper  words  may  escape;  but 
actions  are  much  more  in  our  power.  We  may  be  too  angry 
at  present  to  venture  upon  actmg  at  all :  a  little  delay  can  do 
no  harm,  and  may  do  a  great  deal  of  good.  Only,  when  we 
take  tune,  we  should  make  a  right  use  of  it ;  not  revolve  an 
insignificant  offence  in  our  minds,  interpret  little  incidents 
with  perverse  acuteness,  and  lay  stress  upon  groundless  fancies, 
till  we  work  it  up  into  a  heinous  crime.  The  best  understand- 
ings, mthout  good  tempers,  can  go  the  greatest  lengths  in  this 
way ;  and  employing  their  reflection  to  excite  the  displeasure 
which  it  ought  to  restrain,  the  longer  they  ruminate  the  more 
untractable  they  grow.  Now  passion  may  be  trusted  very 
safely  to  suggest  all  the  aggravating  circumstances.     Reason, 


WHAT  TO  DO  WHEN  AGGEIEVED.  179 

therefore,  should  be  called  in  only  to  represent  tlie  alleviating 
considerations,  of  which  we  perpetually  overlook  so  many  and 
so  important  ones,  that  we  should  give  those  about  us  all  pos- 
sible encouragement  to  remind  us  of  them.  And  if  the  person, 
by  whom  we  think  ourselves  aggrieved,  be  one  with  whom  we 
have  any  close  connexion,  or  of  whom  we  have  ground  to 
think  advantageously,  laying  our  complaint  mildly  before  him, 
and  hearkening  impartially  to  his  answer,  may  very  possibly 
set  all  right,  and  place  us  on  a  better  footing  than  ever  we 
were  before.  "  Admonish  a  friend  :  it  may  be  he  hath  not 
done  it ;  and  if  he  have  done  it,  that  he  do  it  no  more. 
Admonish  thy  friend  :  it  may  be  he  hath  not  said  it ;  and  if 
he  have,  that  he  speak  it  not  again.  Admonish  a  friend  :  for 
many  times  it  is  a  slander  :  and  believe  not  every  tale.  There 
is  one,  that  slippeth  in  his  speech ;  but  not  from  his  heart  : 
and  who  is  he  that  hath  not  offended  with  his  tongue  ?  Ad- 
monish thy  neighbour  before  thou  threaten  him  :  and,  not 
being  angry,  give  place  to  the  law  of  the  most  High  "  (Ecclus. 
xix.  13-17).  Only  this  caution  ought  to  be  observed  in  the 
case,  that  such  as  are  naturally  warm  and  impatient,  should 
but  seldom  risk  a  personal  explanation  at  first  j  but  rather 
employ  some  common  well-wisher,  on  whose  probity  and  pru- 
dence they  can  safely  depend,  that  he  will  moderate,  not  in- 
flame, matters  by  interposing.  And  when  thus,  or  any  way,  the 
subject  of  difference  is  rightly  stated,  if  the  other  party  be  inno- 
cent, let  us  admit  it  with  pleasure ;  if  he  own  his  fault,  though 
not  so  fully  as  he  should,  let  us  receive  his  acknowledgment 
with  generosity.  And  if,  in  return,  he  brings  a  charge  against 
us,  let  us  say  with  calmness  what  we  have  to  say  justly  in  our 
own  favour ;  confess  frankly,  with  due  concern,  whatever  hath 
been  amiss;  and  where  there  is  no  room  for  a  defence,  attempt 
no  palliation,  but  follow  the  injunction  of  Scripture  :  "  If  thou 
hast  done  foolishly,  or  if  thou  hast  thought  evil,  lay  thine 
hand  upon  thy  mouth  "  (Prov.  xxx.  32).     It  will  be  very  dis- 


180  PULPIT  OKATORS. 

honourable,  and  very  strange  in  liim,  to  treat  us  unkindly 
upon  this.  But  if  he  doth,  we  must  submit  patiently  to  what 
we  have  brought  upon  ourselves,  and  not  be  guilty  of  a  second 
misdemeanour,  because  our  first  is  not  handsomely  forgiven  us. 

5et  Ef)ine  ^mm  m  ©rtfer. 

Not  many,  it  may  be  feared,  have  reason  to  be  contented,  that 
everything  should  lie  at  the  hour  of  their  death,  just  as  it 
doth  now.  Some  have  spent  a  great  part  of  their  lives  in 
puttmg  their  houses  out  of  order,  in  perplexing  and  ruuiing 
their  affairs  by  extravagance,  negligence,  or  ill-management. 
These  have  singular  need  to  restore  them  without  delay  to 
the  best  posture  they  can.  And  such  as  may  have  acted  very 
prudently  on  the  supposition  of  living  long,  may  yet  have 
done  Kttle  or  nothing  in  regard  to  the  possibility  of  dying  soon. 
Now  sickness  frequently  affords  but  little  time ;  and  almost 
always  brings  along  with  it  uneasiness  full  enough  for  us  to 
bear,  without  the  additional  weight  of  business.  Besides,  in 
that  condition,  our  judgment,  or  memory,  or  attention  may  be 
impaired.  Weakness  of  spirits  may  subject  us  to  undue  im- 
pressions from  those  who  are  about  us :  our  truest  friends  and 
ablest  and  properest  advisers  may  be  accidentally  absent,  or 
artfully  kept  from  us :  in  short,  one  way  or  another,  there  is  a 
great  hazard  of  our  doing  things  wrongly,  or  at  best  imper- 
fectly. Fears  or  suspicions  of  this  may  grievously  disquiet  us, 
and  add  to  our  danger :  or,  though  we  apprehend  that  no  evils 
5vni  arise,  from  our  want  of  timely  caution,  to  those  whom 
w^e  leave  behind  us,  they  may  come  to  feel  very  dreadful  ones. 
And  why  should  not  all  this  be  prevented?  We  must  leave 
what  we  have,  whether  we  dispose  of  it  or  not.  And  if  we  defer 
disposing  of  it,  because  we  have  not  the  heart  to  do  it,  such  a 
heart  should  not  be  indulged,  but  amended.  The  difficulty  of 
settling  things,  or  the  uncertainty  how  to  settle  them,  will 


"  SET  THINE  HOUSE  IN  ORDER."  181 

scarce  grow  less  by  putting  it  off  to  the  last.  If  any  altera- 
tion of  circumstances,  or  of  onr  opinion,  sliould  happen  after 
our  disposition  is  made,  it  may  be  altered  accordingly.  And 
that  strange  imagination  of  being  nearer  death,  for  having 
completed  this  or  any  provision  for  it,  is  a  poor  absurd  super- 
stition, confuted  by  daily  experience.  On  the  contrary,  you 
will  be  more  at  ease,  and  likely  to  live  the  longer,  for  having 
done  your  duty  in  this  respect.  And  by  making  sure  to  do  it 
in  time,  you  may  obviate  great  injustice,  grievous  contentions 
and  enmities,  long  and  vast  expenses,  where,  if  they  be  not 
obviated,  the  fault  will  lie  at  your  door. 

Every  one  therefore  should  take  the  earliest  care  of  these 
matters.  But  if  any  one  hath  omitted  it,  the  office  before- 
mentioned  expressly  requires,  that  he  be  admonished  in  his 
sickness  to  make  his  will,  and  to  declare  his  debts,  what  he 
oweth,  and  what  is  owing  unto  him,  for  the  better  discharging 
of  his  conscience,  and  the  quietness  of  his  executors.  We  of 
the  clergy  have  now  but  seldom  the  means  allowed  us  of  giv- 
ing you  this  or  any  other  admonition  at  such  times.  I  hope 
it  is  not  our  fault.  Consider  if  it  be  not  yours.  But  however 
that  be,  we  may  and  we  ought  to  do  it  from  the  pulpit :  v/here 
speaking  openly  to  all  in  general,  we  cannot  be  suspected  of 
any  private  unfair  design,  into  whatever  particulars  the  subject 
may  lead  us. 

The  principal  point,  at  which  men  sould  aim  in  settling 
their  temporal  affau's,  is  justice :  and  one  of  the  most  evident 
branches  of  justice  is  paying  debts.  Our  first  care,  therefore, 
should  be  never  to  contract  debts  w^hich  we  cannot  reasonably 
hope  to  pay :  and  our  next,  to  secure  the  payment  of  those 
which  we  have  contracted  as  fully  and  speedily  as  we  can. 
Else  we  shall  be  in  continual  danger  of  injuring,  perhaps  dis- 
tressing and  undoing,  persons  and  families,  only  for  thinking 
well  enough  of  us  to  trust  us.  It  is  extremely  dishonourable, 
(I  might  use  a  harsher  word)  at  any  season  of  life  to  indulge 

VOL.  IV.  Q 


182  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

our  idleness,  gratify  our  fancies  and  appetites,  or  support  our 
rank,  at  their  expense.  But  when  sickness  gives  us  a  prospect 
of  never  being  just  to  them,  unless  we  are  so  immediately,  we 
have  then  every  possible  motive  for  labouring  most  earnestly 
to  indemnify  them.  And  we  ought  to  prefer  the  demands 
which  they  have  upon  us,  before  all  mere  properties,  however 
reasonable ;  contrive  good  security  for  them  out  of  whatever 
we  fairly  can;  and  if,  after  all,  we  cannot  do  it  effectually, 
recommend  them,  as  far  as  ever  there  is  any  plea  for  it,  to  the 
compassion  of  our  surviving  representatives  and  relations. 
But  as  we  cannot  be  certain  that  they  will  (and  in  several 
cases  there  may  be  no  reason  why  they  should)  do  what  we 
desire,  the  only  sure  way  is  to  provide  before  it  is  too  late  for 
doing  it  ourselves.  If  our  circumstances  are  upon  the  whole 
sufficient  to  answer  all  claims,  barely  making  known  the  debts 
due  from  us,  and  owing  to  us,  or  at  most  stating  them  with 
the  parties  concerned,  may  be  enough ;  and  where  it  is  wanted, 
employing  some  thought  and  pains  on  such  matters,  as  we  are 
able,  will  be  doing  very  good  service  both  to  our  creditors  and 
to  our  heirs. 

But  besides  those  who  are  commonly  called  creditors,  there 
is  another  and  much  more  dreadful  sort :  I  mean  those  to 
whom  we  have  done  injuries,  and  owe  restitution.  Injuries 
ought  never  to  be  done.  When  they  are  done,  restitution,  if 
it  can,  ought  to  be  made  immediately ;  and  till  it  is  offered,  so 
far  as  our  ability  extends,  we  remain  both  debtors  and  sinners. 
If  we  defer  it  to  the  last,  we  may  never  make  it  at  all;  and 
though  we  do,  whether  God  will  then  accept  it  must  be  doubt- 
ful"; but  if  even  then  we  refuse  it,  unless  the  cause  be  that  we 
excusably  mistake  the  nature  of  the  case,  we  preserve  no  ground 
for  hope.  It  is  unspeakably  better,  therefore,  to  think  seriously 
at  any  time  than  never,  what  wrongs  or  what  hardships  any  of 
our  fellow-creatures  have  suffered  from  us,  and  to  what  suit- 
able compensation  they  are  entitled,  either  in  strict  justice,  or 


KESTITUTION  AND  RECONCILIATTOX.  183 

in  equity  and  good  conscience.  The  answer  to  this  question 
may  often  be  a  very  afflicting  one;  but  if  men  will  do  amiss, 
they  must  take  the  consequences.  It  may  also,  in  some  cases, 
be  difficult  to  fix  upon  the  right  answer,  or  to  find  proper 
methods  of  putting  it  in  practice,  if  we  know  it ;  but  we  must 
not,  on  account  of  difficulties,  lay  aside  the  thought  of  doing 
our  duty,  but  ask  the  best  advice  where  we  are  at  a  loss, 
leave  directions  to  be  executed  by  others,  where  we  have  not 
time  ourselves;  and  at  least  make  due  acknowledgments,  un- 
less particular  circumstances  forbid,  where  we  cannot  make 
amends.  Perhaps  nothing  further  than  acknowledgments  will 
be  expected  by  those  whom  we  have  injured;  and  then  we  are 
bound  to  nothing  further. 

But  as  we  have  all  more  or  less  need  to  ask  pardon,  another 
of  our  duties  evidently  is,  to  grant  it  in  our  turn :  when  others 
have  used  us  ill,  not  to  recompense  or  wish  them  evil  for  evil ; 
not  to  deny  them  proper  kindnesses;  or  even  think  of  them 
worse  than  they  deserve — to  accept  any  submissions  that  do 
but  approach  towards  being  sufficient,  and  be  reconciled  to  them, 
not  in  words  alone,  which  is  adding  hypocrisy  to  resentment, 
but  in  reality,  affording  them  as  large  proofs,  both  of  our 
favour  and  confidence,  as  any  good  and  wise  man,  uninterested 
in  the  matter,  would  think  fitting — seriously  wishing  their 
good,  in  soul,  body,  and  estate,  and  being  ready  to  promote  it 
as  far  as  we  properly  can.  This  is  the  full  meaning  of  being 
in  charity,  which  we  ought  to  be  constantly  in  with  all  men ; 
and,  if  the  reason  of  our  professing  to  be  so  is  merely  that  we 
imagine  our  end  to  be  near,  it  mil  be  extremely  questionable 
whether  we  are  so  indeed.  Yet,  a  late,  nay,  an  imperfect  re- 
conciliation is  always  preferable  to  none,  provided  there  be  any 
sincerity  in  it.  For  the  expedient,  to  which,  it  is  said,  some 
have  had  recourse,  of  forgiving  if  they  die,  and  being  revenged 
if  they  live,  is  as  wicked  and  as  foolish  a  contrivance  to  deceive 
themselves,  and  to  mock  God,  as  the  human  heart  can  frame. 


184  PULPIT  ORATORS. 


LA^URENCE  STERNE. 


"Tlie  Sermons  of  Mr  Yorick"  arc  chiefly  remarkable  for 
their  curious  commencements.  On  the  text,  "But  Abishai 
said,  Shall  not  Shimei  be  put  to  death  for  this?''  he  begins, 
"  It  has  not  a  good  aspect.  This  is  the  second  time  Abishai 
has  pro2)osed  Shimei's  destruction."  Again,  the  text  is,  "  And 
he  said,  What  have  they  seen  in  thine  house  ?  And  Hezekiah 
answered,  All  the  things  that  are  in  my  house  they  have  seen; 
there  is  nothing  amongst  all  my  treasures  that  I  have  not  shewn 
them;"  and  the  sermon  commences,  "And  where  was  the 
harm,  you'll  say,  in  all  this?"  Once  more,  from  the  text, 
"  He  hoped  also  that  money  should  have  been  given  him  of 
Paul,  that  he  might  loose  him,"  he  sets  out,  "  A  noble  object  to 
take  up  the  consideration  of  the  lloman  governor  !  And  was 
this  Felix — the  gTeat,  the  noble  Felix  1 "  &c.  After  giving  out 
the  text,  "  It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to 
the  house  of  feasting,"  he  exclaims,  "That  I  deny  !"''" 

Few  things  shew  more  strikingly  the  low  tone  of  moral 
feeling  in  England  about  the  middle  of  last  century,  than  the 
enthusiasm  viith  which  books  were  received  so  profligate  and 
unprincipled  as  "Tristram  Shandy"  and  the  "Sentimental 
Journey  ;"  and  it  seems  almost  a  satire  on  religion,  that  a  pen 
so  foul  should  have  been  employed  in  writing  sermons.  But 
so  it  was ;  and  these  last  were  almost  as  popular  as  his  other 
lucubrations.  They  abound  in  similar  buffooneries  and  whimsi- 
calities, and  for  their  want  of  heart  and  genuine  worth  they  try 
to  compensate  by  a  })rofusion  of  maudlin  sentiment.  It  is  not 
without  some  hesitation  that  we  admit  into  our  series  names 
like  Sterne  and  Dodd  ;  but  our  sketch  of  pulpit  oratory  would 
be  very  incomplete  if  we  made  no  mention  of  men  so  dazzling 

*  On  the  sultject  of  exordiams  to  sermons,  see  "  Christian  Classics,"  vol. 
iii.,  pp.  27-30. 


STERNE.  1 85 

in  their  day.  The  first  two  volumes  of  "  ]\Ir  Yorick's  Sermons" 
were  published  in  1760.  Our  copy  is  dated  1767,  and  is  of 
the  eighth  edition. 

Laurence  Sterne  was  born  at  Clonmel,  in  Ireland,  November 
24,  1713.  His  father  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  army,  and  his 
uncle,  Dr  Jaques  Sterne,  was  a  j^rebendary  of  Durham.  To 
this  relation  he  was  indebted  for  the  living  of  Sutton,  where 
he  spent  twenty  years  of  his  clerical  career,  "painting,  fiddling, 
and  shooting."  He  died  during  a  visit  to  London,  March  18, 
1768. 

The  following  is  a  favourable  sjDecimen  of  discourses  which 
were  so  admired  in  the  days  of  our  great-grandsires ;  but  all 
their  galvanic  attempts  at  emotion  will  hardly  reconcile  the 
modern  reader  to  the  liberties  taken  with  the  matcliless  story  of 

He  gathers  all  together. 

I  see  the  picture  of  his  departure;  the  camels  and  asses 
loaden  with  his  substance,  detached  on  one  side  of  the  piece, 
and  already  on  their  way;  the  prodigal  son  standing  on  the 
foreground,  with  a  forced  sedateness,  struggling  against  the 
fluttering  movement  of  joy  upon  his  deliverance  from  restraint ; 
the  elder  brother  holding  his  hand,  as  if  unmlling  to  let  it  go ; 
the  father — sad  moment ! — with  a  firm  look,  covering  a  pro- 
phetic sentiment,  "  that  all  would  not  go  well  with  his  child," 
approaching  to  embrace  him,  and  bid  him  adieu.  Poor  in- 
considerate youth!  From  whose  arms  art  thou  flying?  from 
what  a  shelter  art  thou  going  forth  into  the  storm?  Art  thou 
weary  of  a  father's  affection,  of  a  father's  care  ?  or  hopest  thou 
to  find  a  warmer  interest,  a  truer  counsellor,  or  a  kinder  friend 
in  a  land  of  strangers,  where  youth  is  made  a  prey,  and  so 
many  thousands  are  confederated  to  deceive  them,  and  live  by 
their  spoils? 

Q  2 


186  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

Wc  will  seek  no  further  than  this  idea  for  the  extravagancies 
by  which  the  prodigal  son  added  one  unhappy  example  to  the 
number.  His  fortune  wasted — the  followers  of  it  fled  in 
course — the  wants  of  nature  remain — the  hand  of  God  gone 
forth  against  him.  "For  when  he  had  spent  all,  a  mighty 
famine  arose  in  that  country."  Heaven  have  pity  upon  the 
youth,  for  he  is  in  hunger  and  distress;  strayed  out  of  the 
reach  of  a  parent  who  counts  every  hour  of  his  absence  with 
anguish;  cut  off  from  all  his  tender  offices  by  his  folly,  and 
from  relief  and  charity  from  others  by  the  calamity  of  the 
times. 

Nothing  so  powerfully  calls  home  the  mind  as  distress.  The 
tense  fibre  then  relaxes — the  soul  retires  to  itself — sits  pen- 
sive and  susceptible  of  right  impressions.  If  we  have  a  friend, 
it  is  then  we  think  of  him ;  if  a  benefactor,  at  that  moment  all 
his  kindnesses  press  upon  our  mind.  Gracious  and  bountiful 
God  !  is  it  not  for  this  that  they  who  in  their  prosperity  forget 
Thee,  do  yet  remember  and  return  to  Thee  in  the  hour  of  their 
sorrow?  When  our  heart  is  in  heaviness,  upon  whom  can  we 
think  but  Thee,  who  knowest  our  necessities  afar  off — puttest 
all  our  tears  in  Thy  bottle — seest  every  careful  thought — liear- 
est  every  sigh  and  melancholy  groan  we  utter  ? 

Strange,  that  we  should  only  begin  to  think  of  God  with 
comfort,  when  with  joy  and  comfort  we  can  think  of  nothing 
else. 

Man  surely  is  a  compound  of  riddles  and  contradictions. 
By  the  law  of  his  nature  he  avoids  pain,  and  yet,  unless  he 
suffers  in  the  flesh,  he  will  not  cease  from  sin,  though  it  is  sure 
to  bring  pain  and  misery  upon  his  head  for  ever. 

Whilst  all  went  pleasurably  on  with  the  prodigal,  we  hear 
not  one  word  concerning  his  father — no  pang  of  remorse  for 
the  sufferings  in  which  he  had  left  him,  or  resolution  of  re- 
turning to  make  up  the  account  of  his  folly.  His  first  hour  of 
distress  seemed  to  be  his  first  hour  of  wisdom.     "  When  he 


THE  PRODIGAL.  187 

came  to  liimself,  lie  said,  How  many  hired  servants  of  my 
father  have  bread  enough  and  to  spare,  whilst  I  perish!" 

Of  all  the  terrors  of  nature,  that  of  one  day  or  another  dying 
by  hunger  is  the  greatest ;  and  it  is  wisely  wove  into  our  frame 
to  awaken  man  to  industry,  and  call  forth  his  talents.  And 
though  we  seem  to  go  on  carelessly,  sporting  with  it  as  we  do 
with  other  terrors,  yet,  he  that  sees  this  enemy  fairly,  and  in 
his  most  frightful  shape,  will  need  no  long  remonstrance  to 
make  him  turn  out  of  the  way  to  avoid  him. 

It  was  the  case  of  the  prodigal.  He  arose  to  go  to  his 
father. 

Alas !  how  shall  he  tell  his  story  ?  Ye  who  have  trod  this 
round,  tell  me  in  what  words  he  shall  give  in  to  his  father  the 
sad  items  of  his  extravagance  and  folly. 

The  feasts  and  banquets  which  he  gave  to  whole  cities  in 
the  east — the  costs  of  Asiatic  rarities,  and  of  Asiatic  cooks  to 
dress  them — the  expenses  of  singing  men  and  singing  women 
— the  flute,  the  harp,  the  sackbut,  and  of  all  kinds  of  music — 
the  dress  of  the  Persian  courts,  how  magnificent !  their  slaves, 
how  numerous  I — their  chariots,  their  horses,  their  palaces,  their 
furniture,  what  immense  sums  they  had  devoured!  what  ex- 
pectations fi-om  strangers  of  condition !  what  exactions ! 

Plow  shall  the  youth  make  his  father  comprehend  that  he 
was  cheated  at  Damascus  by  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world ; 
that  he  had  lent  a  part  of  his  substance  to  a  friend  at  Nineveh, 
who  had  fled  off  with  it  to  the  Ganges ;  that  he  had  been  sold 
by  a  man  of  honour  for  twenty  shekels  of  silver  to  a  worker  in 
graven  images ;  that  the  images  he  had  purchased  had  profited 
him  nothing ;  that  they  could  not  be  transported  across  the 
wilderness,  and  had  been  burnt  with  fire  at  Shushan ;  that  the 
apes  and  peacocks,''  which  he  had  sent  for  from  Tarshish,  lay 
dead  upon  his  hands;  and  that  the  mummies  had  not  been 
dead  long  enough  which  had  been  brought  him  out  of  Egypt  J 
*  Vide  2  Chron.  ir.  21. 


188  PULPIT  OEATORS. 

— that  all  had  gone  wrong  smce  the  day  he  forsook  his  father's 
house. 

Leave  the  story :  it  will  be  told  more  concisely.  "  When  he 
was  yet  afar  off,  his  father  saw  him," — compassion  told  it  in 
three  words, — "  he  fell  upon  his  neck  and  kissed  him." 

Great  is  the  power  of  eloquence,  but  never  is  it  so  great  as 
when  it  pleads  along  with  nature,  and  the  culprit  is  a  child 
straj^ed  from  his  duty,  and  returned  to  it  again  with  tears. 
Casuists  may  settle  the  j^oint  as  they  mil ;  but  w^hat  could  a 
jDarent  see  more  in  the  account  than  the  natural  one  of  an  in- 
genuous heart  too  open  for  the  world,  smitten  with  strong 
sensations  of  pleasure,  and  suffered  to  sally  forth  unarmed  into 
the  midst  of  enemies  stronger  than  himself? 

Generosity  sorrows  as  much  for  the  overmatched  as  pity 
herself  does. 

The  idea  of  a  son  so  rumed  would  double  the  father's 
caresses.  Every  effusion  of  his  tenderness  would  add  bitter- 
ness to  his  son's  remorse.  "  Gracious  heaven !  what  a  father 
have  I  rendered  miserable  !" 

"And  he  said,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven,  and  in  thy 
sight,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son." 

"  But  the  father  said,  Bring  forth  the  best  robe " 

O  ye  aflfections  !  How  fondly  do  you  play  at  cross-jDurposes 
with  each  other!  'Tis  the  natural  dialogue  of  true  transport. 
Joy  is  not  methodical ;  and  v/here  an  offender,  beloved,  over- 
charges himself  in  the  offence,  words  are  too  cold,  and  a  conci- 
liated heart  replies  by  tokens  of  esteem. 

"  And  he  said  unto  his  servants,  Bring  forth  the  best  robe, 
and  put  it  on  him;  and  put  a  ring  on  his  hand,  and  sslioes  on 
his  feet,  and  bring  hither  the  fatted  calf,  and  let  us  eat  and 
drink  and  be  merry." 

When  the  affections  so  kindly  break  loose,  joy  is  another 
name  for  religion. 

We  look  up  as  we  taste  it.     The  cold  stoic  without,  when 


r>R  DODD.  189 

lie  hears  the  dancmg  and  the  music,  may  ask  sullenly  (with 
the  elder  brother)  what  it  means,  and  refuse  to  enter;  but  the 
humane  and  compassionate  all  fly  impetuously  to  the  banquet 
given  "  for  a  son  who  was  dead  and  is  alive  again ;  who  was 
lost  and  is  found."  Gentle  spirits  light  up  the  pavilion  with  a 
sacred  fire,  and  parental  love  and  filial  piety  lead  in  the  masque 
with  riot  and  wild  festivity !  Was  it  not  for  this  that  God 
gave  man  music  to  strike  upon  the  kindly  passions ;  that  nature 
taught  the  feet  to  dance  to  its  movements,  and  as  chief  gover- 
ness of  the  feast,  poured  forth  Vvine  into  the  goblet  to  crown  it 
with  gladness? 

DR  DODD. 

William  Dodd,  son  of  the  Yicar  of  Bourne,  in  Lincolnshire, 
was  born  there  in  1720.  xVt  Clare  Hall,  Cambridge,  he  gave 
proofs  of  superior  ability,  and  commenced  a  somewhat  preco- 
cious authorship,  most  of  his  publications  being  poems,  on  sub- 
jects grave  or  gay.  On  receiving  orders  he  came  out  a  clever 
and  attractive  preacher;  and  whilst,  by  the  adroit  use  of  his 
talents,  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  various  popular  appoint- 
ments, such  as  the  preachership  at  the  Magdalene  Hospital, 
and  several  city  lectureships,  by  a  system  of  flattery  and  sub- 
ser\dency  he  secured  a  large  amount  of  episcopal  and  aristo- 
cratic patronage.  But  during  all  this  interval  he  was  leading 
a  life  of  the  wildest  profusion  and  most  extravagant  self-indul- 
gence, and  in  order  to  extricate  himself  had  recourse  to  expe- 
dients which  betrayed  his  entire  vrant  of  principle.  When  the 
rectory  of  St  George's,  Hanover  Square,  fell  vacant,  he  offered 
Lady  Apsley  a  bribe  of  three  thousand  pounds  if  she  could 
obtain  for  him  the  presentation,  but  the  only  result  was  ex- 
posure and  disgrace.  His  name  was  struck  out  of  the  list  of 
chaplains  to  the  king,  and,  overwhelmed  with  public  obloquy, 
he  took  refuge  on  the  Continent.  Here,  however,  his  expen- 
sive habits  did  not  cease,  and,  on  his  return  to  London,  he 


190  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

raised  a  large  sum  on  the  credit  of  a  bond,  bearing  the  signa- 
ture of  his  former  pupil,  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield.  The  signa- 
ture was  soon  found  to  be  a  fabrication;  and  under  the  act 
then  newly  passed,  and  which  rendered  forgery  a  capital 
oflfence,  Dr  Dodd  was  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and  convicted. 
Great  but  unavailing  efforts  were  made  to  procure  a  mitigation 
of  his  sentence,  and  he  was  executed  at  Tyburn,  June  27, 
1777. 

Read  in  the  light  of  his  melancholy  end,  we  are  apt  to  re- 
gard the  sermons  of  Dr  Dodd  as  the  effusions  of  a  mere  clerical 
fop  or  charlatan,  but  it  would  be  an  error  to  deny  their  in- 
trinsic merits.  Their  author  was  a  man  of  extensive  informa- 
tion, and  his  discourses  are  enlivened  by  interesting  anecdotes, 
and  oi^portune  poetical  quotations,  which  must  have  gone  far  to 
keep  the  hearers  awake,  and  which  almost  bring  them  within 
the  range  of  our  lighter  literature.  They  have  too  much  of  the 
smoothness  of  the  courtier,  and  too  little  of  the  solemnity  of 
Heaven's  ambassador,  and  they  entirely  lack  the  light  and 
imction  of  the  Christian  evangelist ;  but  were  they  divested 
of  their  homiletic  form,  with  their  worldly  wisdom  and  prac- 
tical tendency,  they  would  take  a  respectable  place  among  our 
later  British  Essayists. 

Each  of  his  "  Sermons  to  Young  Men''  is  followed  by  a  col- 
lection of  illustrative  anecdotes — a  method  of  which  the  fol- 
lowing sample  may  give  some  idea : — 

l^uks  for  ^onhtxmiion. 

Your  great  endeavour  should  be  so  to  supply  your  own  mind 
with  the  proper  materials  for  conversation,  that  you  may  be 
able,  like  the  rich  householder,  to  bring  out  of  your  plenteous 
treasury,  things  new  and  old,  for  the  entertainment  and  in- 
struction of  your  friends  and  companions.  We  have  before 
observed,  that  as  it  is  "  from  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the 


RULES  FOR  CONVERSATION.  191 

mouth  speaketli,"  so  men's  words  and  conversation  necessaiily 
flow  from  the  ruling  principle  ^\ithin ;  and,  therefore,  if  by- 
reading  and  reflection  your  mind  is  occupied  upon  wise  and 
sensible  objects,  and  your  thoughts  filled  with  them,  you  will 
be  naturally  led  to  communicate  from  your  store ;  and  your 
discourse,  to  the  great  emolument  of  those  Avith  whom  you 
converse,  will  take  the  same  useful  and  improving  turn  with 
your  thoughts. 

However,  one  thing  is  carefully  to  be  avoided — "  a  mono- 
poly of  the  conversation."  Though  your  topic  is  most  instruc- 
tive ;  though  you  understand  it  completely,  and  can  treat  of  it 
in  the  most  masterly  manner,  nothing  can  excuse  your  assum- 
ing to  yourself  the  principal  part  of  the  discourse,  and  not 
allowing  to  others  their  due  share  and  portion  of  it.  For 
conversation,  founded  upon  equality,  by  no  means  allow^s  of  en- 
grossing :  every  man  has  a  right  to  claim  his  part,  and  expects 
to  be  heard.  But  this  is  not  the  only  evil  or  oflence  of 
garrulity;  it  betrays  a  weak  and  an  arrogant  mind:  and  if  it 
be  accompanied,  as  too  frequently  happens,  with  an  insolent 
and  dogmatical  ak,  with  an  over-bearing,  presumptuous,  and 
pedantic  manner,  it  defeats  the  ends  of  conversation,  and  in- 
fallibly brands  the  intemperate  prater  with  the  stigma  of  con- 
tempt. 

Pythagoras,  my  young  friends,  well  convinced  of  the  great 
wisdom  and  utility  of  knowing  how  to  restrain  the  tongue, 
enjoined  all  his  disciples  a  three  years'  silence  :  and  be  assured, 
there  is  more  good  sense  and  advantage  in  knowing  how  to 
keep  silence  properly,  than  you  are  aware  of.  "  fSilence  in 
company,  if  not  dulness  or  sheepishness,  is  observation  or  dis- 
cretion." An  attention  to  others  conciliates  their  regard  and 
attention  to  you ;  and  a  modest  question  thrown  in,  now  and 
then,  a  kind  of  inquiring  observation,  never  fails  to  conciliate 
to  young  men  the  esteem  of  all  with  whom  they  converse. 
Always  to  be  more  knowing  than  you  appear  to  be,  never 


102  PULPIT  OEATORS. 

forwardly  to  obtrude  yourself,  or  to  wish  to  outshine  others  iu 
comically,  but  on  all  occasions  to  wear  the  garb  of  diffident 
modesty,  is  the  infallible  road  to  gain  in  conversation  both 
knoAvledge  and  respect. 

Besides  engrossing  the  conversation,  we  must  note  another 
defect,  the  consequence  generally  of  a  love  of  talking — that 
fertile  source  of  innumerable  evils.  JSTever,  my  young  friends, 
on  any  account,  unless  immediately  called  upon,  and  urged  by 
self-defence,  "  make  yourselves  the  topic  of  your  discourse." 
Nothing  so  nauseous,  so  offensive  as  egotism  :  it  bespeaks  the 
empty,  vain,  and  insignificant  mind.  Men,  conscious  of  the 
source  from  whence  this  error  springs,  mil  suspect  whatever 
you  say,  and  withhold  from  you  all  the  praise  you  propose  to 
gain  by  holding  forth  your  ovrn  perfections  to  view  :  and 
should  you,  "vvith  some,  absurdly  affect  to  condemn  yourself  in 
sober  sadness,  for  some  vice  or  evil  (to  w^hich  you  unfortu- 
nately are  addicted  !)  your  hearers  will  have  discernment 
enough,  be  sure,  to  see  of  what  virtue  you  thus  mean  to  claim 
the  excess ;  and  Vvill  ridicule  the  weakness  which  you  alone 
are  too  blind  to  overlook.  To  please  and  to  be  instructed,  you 
will  act  wisely  to  "  annihilate  yourself,"  as  it  were,  in  conver- 
sation :  nothing  is  so  disgusting  as  a  man  "  too  big "  for  his 
company;  and  nothing  so  despicable  and  tedious,  as  the  in- 
sipid retailer  of  dull  stories  and  circumstantial  narratives — the 
miserable,  minute,  self-important  historian  of  uninteresting 
details,  which  lull  even  sweet  i^atience  herself  to  sleep,  and 
make  good  sense  run  mad ! 

But  let  mc  caution  you,  my  young  friends,  as  against  the 
excess  of  talking  on  one  hand,  so  against  the  defect  on  the 
other.  A  modest  and  respectful  silence  is  doubtless  most  mse 
and  amiable ;  but  a  dull  and  morose  one  is  hateful  and  dis- 
gusting. And  I  know  not,  whether  the  eternal  shallow  prater 
may  not  be  the  better  companion  of  the  two,  than  the  man 
who  in  solcnm  silence  hears,  and  speaks  not ;  or  only,  perhaps. 


ANECDOTES.  193 

in  blunt  honesty,  as  lie  calls  it,  now  and  then  speaks  his  mind, 
to  the  pain  and  disgust  of  all  present ;  or,  with  an  importance, 
which  nothing  but  his  dulness  can  exceed,  occasionally  distills 
a  sentence  or  two,  drop  by  drop,  from  his  oracular  lips. 

Politeness,  in  the  common  intercourse  of  the  world,  is  a  sub- 
sidium  to  what  Christian  love  is  in  the  better  system  of  reli- 
gion and  virtue.  The  former  may  be  defined,  "  A  constant 
attention  to  oblige,  to  do  or  say  nothing,  which  may  give  pain 
or  oftence."  And  Christian  love  is  a  continual  endeavour  to 
please,  in  order  to  promote  our  neighbour's  best  welfare. 
While,  therefore,  my  young  friends,  you  act  upon  the  amiable 
principles  of  Christian  truth,  let  that  love  especially,  which  is 
the  most  refined  politeness,  be  the  principal  regulator  of  j^our 
behaviour  in  conversation.  "  Study  ahvays  to  please,  in  order 
to  improve  and  do  good."  Good  sense,  good  humour,  and 
good  breeding,  unite  in  nearly  the  same  dictate ;  and  if  they 
carry  not  the  motive  so  far  as  it  is  carried  by  Christianity,  re- 
joice, that  you  have  the  happy,  the  plain  direction  of  a  pre- 
cept to  form  your  behaviour,  which  is  no  less  infallibly  produc- 
tive of  your  own  internal  peace  and  felicity,  than  it  is  certain 
to  recommend  you  to  the  approbation  and  good  esteem  of 
others. 

^nectiotcs  rtspectincj  Conbersation, 

1.  Plutarch  tells  us,  in  a  few  words,  what  an  infinite  advan- 
tage Alexander  reaped  from  the  fine  taste  wherewith  his  pre- 
ceptor Aristotle  inspired  him,  even  from  his  tenderest  infancy. 
"  He  loved,"  says  our  author,  "  to  converse  with  learned  men  ; 
to  improve  himself  in  knowledge  ;  and  to  study."  Three  sources 
these,  of  a  monarch's  happiness,  which  enable  him  to  secure 
himself  from  numberless  difiiculties ;  three  certain  and  infal- 
lible methods  of  learning  to  reign  without  the  assistance  of 
others. 

2.  It  was  Mr  Locke's  peculiar  art  in  conversation,  to  lead 

VOL.  IV.  R 


194  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

people  to  talk  of  their  own  profession,  or  whatever  they  best 
understood.  With  a  gardener,  he  discoursed  of  gardening ; 
with  a  jeweller,  of  diamonds;  with  a  chemist  of  chemistry; 
with  a  watchmaker,  of  clocks,  watches,  &c.  "  By  this  means," 
said  he,  "  I  jDlease  all  those  men,  who  commonly  can  speak  per- 
tinently upon  nothing  else.  As  they  believe  I  have  an  esteem 
for  their  profession,  they  are  charmed  with  shewing  their 
abilities  before  me;  and  I  in  the  meantime  improve  myself  by 
their  discourse."  By  thus  putting  questions  to  artificers,  he 
would  sometimes  find  out  a  secret  in  their  art  which  they  did 
not  understand  themselves  ;  and  often  give  them  views  of  the 
subject  entirely  new,  which  they  put  into  practice  with  advan- 
tage. 

3.  The  faculty  of  mterchanging  our  thoughts  with  one 
another,  or  what  w^e  express  by  conversation,  has  always  been 
rej)resented  by  moral  writers,  as  one  of  the  noblest  privileges 
of  reason,  and  which  more  particularly  sets  mankind  above  the 
brute  part  of  creation.  Monsieur  Varillas  once  told  his  friend, 
the  author  of  the  Menagiana,  that  out  of  every  ten  things  he 
knew,  he  had  learned  nine  in  conversation.  And  I  too,  says 
M.  Menage,  can  in  a  great  measure  declare  the  same 

G.  The  utility  and  excellence  of  rational  conversation  can- 
not perhaps  be  expressed  in  words  more  beautiful  and  elegant 
than  the  following,  by  Dr  Young : — 

Good  sense  will  stagnate.     Thoughts  shut  up  want  air, 
And  spoil,  like  bales  unopen'd  to  the  sun. 
Had  thought  been  all,  sweet  speech  had  been  deny'd  ; 
Speech,  thought's  canal !     Speech,  thought's  criterion  too ! 
Thought  in  the  mine,  may  come  forth  gold  or  dross ; 
Wlieu  coin'd  in  words  we  know  its  real  Avorth. 
If  sterling,  store  it  for  thy  future  use  ; 
'Twill  buy  thee  benefit,  perhaps  renown. 
Thought  too,  deliver'd,  is  the  more  po.s?ess'd ; 
Teaching  we  learn ;  and  giving  -we  retain 
The  births  of  intellect ;  when  duml},  forgot. 


ST  Bernard's  dying  charge.  195 

Speech  ventilates  our  intellectual  fire  ; 

Speech  burnishes  our  mental  magazine ; 

Brightens  for  ornament,  and  whets  for  use. 

TVhat  numbers,  sheath'd  in  erudition,  lie, 

Plunged  to  the  hilts  in  venerable  tomes. 

And  rusted  in  ;  who  might  have  borne  an  edge, 

And  play'd  a  sprightly  beam,  if  born  to  speech  ; 

If  born  blest  heirs  of  half  their  mother's  tongue ! 

'Tis  thought's  exchange,  which,  like  th'  alternate  push 

Of  waves  conflicting,  breaks  the  learned  scum. 

And  defecates  the  student's  standing  pool. 

Rude  thought  runs  wild  in  contemplation's  field  ; 

Converse,  the  menage,  breaks  it  to  the  bit  ^ 

Of  due  restraint ;  and  emulation's  spur 

Gives  graceful  energy,  by  rivals  aw'd. 

'Tis  converse  qualifies  for  solitude, 

As  exercise,  for  salutary  rest. 

8.  Of  all  the  inconveniences  attending  the  intercourse  of 
mankind,  slander  and  detraction  are  the  most  frequent,  and 
in  a  very  high  degree  odious  and  detestable.  We  are  told  of 
St  Bernard,  that  when  he  was  drawing  near  his  end,  he  thus 
solemnly  addressed  himself  to  his  brethren,  as  a  dying  man 
bequeathing  legacies  to  his  friends.  "  Three  things  I  require 
you  to  keep  and  observe;  which  I  remember  to  have  kept,  to 
the  best  of  my  power,  as  long  as  I  have  lived.  1.  I  have  not 
willed  to  slander  any  person;  and  if  any  have  fallen,  I  have 
hid  it  as  much  as  possible.  2.  I  have  ever  trusted  less  to  my 
own  wit  and  understanding  than  to  any  other's.  3.  If  I  w^ere  at 
any  time  hurt,  harmed,  and  annoyed,  I  never  wished  vengeance 
against  the  party  who  so  va^onged  me."  This  memorable  sen- 
tence is  peculiarly  applicable  to  every  branch  of  the  present 
subject;  defamation,  insolent  overbearing,  and  petulant  animo- 
sity, being  the  chief  ingredients  that  tend  to  embitter  conver- 
sation, and  preclude  its  improvement  and  advantage 

15.  A  prudent  man  will  avoid  talking  much  of  any  parti- 
cular science,  for  which  he  is  remarkably  famous.     There  is 


196  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

not  a  liandsomer  thing  said  of  ^Ir  Cowley,  in  liis  whole  life, 
than  that  none  but  his  intimate  friends  ever  discovered  he  was 
a  great  poet  by  his  discourse.  Besides  the  decency  of  this 
rule,  it  is  certainly  founded  in  that  good  policy  of  which  Mr 
Locke,  as  above  mentioned,  so  well  availed  himself.  A  man 
who  talks  of  anything  he  is  already  famous  for,  has  little  to 
get,  but  a  great  deal  to  lose 

17.  Sir  Richard  Steele  observes,  that  there  are  some  men 
who  on  all  occasions,  in  all  companies,  talk  in  the  same  circle 
and  round  of  chat  ae  they  have  picked  up  in  their  daily 
peregrinations.  I  remember,  says  he,  at  a  full  table  in  the 
city,  one  of  these  ubiquitary  wits  was  entertaining  the  company 
with  a  soliloquy  (for  so  I  call  it,  when  a  man  talks  to  those 
who  do  not  understand  him)  concerning  wit  and  humour.  An 
honest  gentleman,  who  sat  next  to  me,  and  vras  worth  half  a 
plumb,  stared  at  him,  and  obser\dng  there  was  some  sense,  as 
he  thought,  mixed  -with,  his  impertinence,  whispered  me, 
"  Take  my  word  for  it,  this  fellow  is  more  knave  than  fool." 
This  was  all  my  good  friend's  applause  of  the  vdttiest  man  of 
talk  that  I  was  ever  present  at,  which  wanted  nothing  to  make 
it  excellent,  but  that  there  was  no  occasion  for  it."^ 

18.  The  same  ingenious  author  has  the  following  remarks 
on  locpiacity.  I  look  upon  a  tedious  talker,  or  what  is  gene- 
rally known  by  the  name  of  "a  story-teller,"  to  be  much 
more  insufferable  than  even  a  prolix  writer.  An  author  may 
be  tossed  out  of  your  hand,  and  thrown  aside,  when  he  grows 
dull  and  tiresome:  but  such  liberties  are  so  fiU'  from  beino; 
allowed  towards  these  orators  in  common  conversation,  that  I 
have  known  a  challenge  sent  a  person,  for  going  out  of  the 
room  abruptly,  and  leaving  a  man  of  honour  in  the  midst  of  a 
dissertation.  The  life  of  man  is  too  short  for  a  story-teller. 
Methusalem  might  be  half  an  hour  in  telling  what  o'clock  it 
w^as  :  but  for  us  post-diluvians,  we  ought  to  do  everything  in 

*  See  Tatler,  No.  244. 


DR  OGDEN.  197 

haste;  and  in  our  speeches,  as  well  as  actions,  remember  that 
our  time  is  short.  I  would  establish  but  one  great  general 
rule  to  be  observed  in  all  conversation,  which  is  this,  "  That 
men  should  not  talk  to  please  themselves,  but  those  that  hear 
them."  This  would  make  them  consider,  whether  what  they 
speak  be  worth  hearing;  whether  there  be  either  wit  or  sense 
in  what  they  are  about  to  say ;  and  whether  it  be  adapted  to 
the  time  when,  the  place  where,  and  the  person  to  whom  it  is 
sjDoken. 

DR  OGDEN. 

Samuel  Oc4Den  was  born  at  Manchester,  July  28,  1716. 
He  studied  first  at  King's  College,  Cambridge,  and  afterwards 
at  St  John  s.  For  some  time  he  was  master  of  the  Free  Gram- 
mar School  at  Halifax;  but  in  1753  he  resigned  it  and  came 
to  reside  at  Cambridge,  where  he  continued  till  his  death,  March 
22,  1778.  He  was  not  only  a  Fellow  of  St  John's,  but  Wood- 
wardian  Professor;  and  most  of  his  sermons  were  delivered  in 
the  parish  church  of  St  Sepulchre  to  a  numerous  audience  of 
students  and  the  younger  members  of  the  imiversity. 

Usually  cold,  and  sometimes  feeble,  there  is  nevertheless  in 
Dr  Ogden's  sermons  much  that  is  instructive  and  pleasing. 
They  are  short — they  are  neat — they  usually  contain  some  im- 
portant thought  or  original  idea — and  they  are  the  work  of  a 
man  who  knows  his  own  mind. 

STJe  3Itttetassor*0  ^raucr  tominrj  tiack  into  Ji's  oinn  Bosom, 

[The  text  is  Job  xlii.  10,  "  The  Lord  turned  the  capti\ity  of 
Job,  when  he  prayed  for  his  friends."] 

Among  the  several  competitors  for'the  throne  of  a  certain  an- 
cient kingdom,  in  order  to  put  an  amicable  end  to  the  contest, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  refer  the  decision  of  it  in  some  sort  to 

E  2 


198  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

heaven,  it  was  agreed,  that  he  should  be  the  successful  candi- 
date who  should  first  behold  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  So 
while  the  rest  were  gazing  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  that  part 
of  the  horizon  where  they  expected  the  great  luminary  of  the 
day,  the  god  of  Persia,  to  ascend,  one  of  the  number  bore 
away  the  royal  prize  by  turning  his  face  toward  the  west. 
He  discovered  a  stream  of  the  sun's  beams  by  reflection  from 
the  summit  of  a  mountain,  or  the  pinnacle  of  a  temple,  before 
any  part  of  his  orb  was  yet  visible  by  a  direct  light. 

This  story  has  the  appearance  of  a  little  allegory,  rather  than 
of  true  history ;  and  it  is  possible  the  meaning  may  be  this, 
that  he  who  carried  the  crown  in  that  competition  succeeded 
by  not  appearing  too  forward  and  eager  in  the  pursuit.  He 
modestly  declined,  he  turned  his  face  away  from  that  great 
dignity ;  and  for  this  veiy  reason,  it  met  him  with  the  more 
willingness.  The  things  which  we  desire  the  most  ardently 
are  not  always  to  be  denied nded  eagerly.  Extreme  selfishness 
is  often  the  cause  of  its  own  disappointment.  The  greedy  go 
away  unfed  ;  while  he  that  ''  scattereth,  increaseth,"  and  the 
liberal  are  loaded  with  good. 

"The  Lord  appeared  unto  Solomon,  and  God  said.  Ask 
what  I  shall  give  thee.  And  Solomon  said.  Thy  servant  is  in 
the  midst  of  thy  people  whom  thou  hast  chosen,  a  great  j^eoj^le, 
that  cannot  be  numbered,  nor  counted  for  multitude  :  give 
therefore  thy  servant  an  understanding  heart.  And  God  said 
unto  him.  Because  thou  hast  asked  tliis  thing,  and  hast  not 
asked  for  thyself  long  life,  neither  hast  asked  riches  for  thy- 
self, nor  hast  asked  the  life  of  thine  enemies,  but  understand- 
ing to  discern  judgment;  behold,  I  have  done  according  to 
thy  words;  lo,  I  have  given  thee  a  wise  and  understanding 
heart :  and  I  have  also  given  thee  that  which  thou  hast  not 
asked,  both  riches  and  honour." 

How  charming  is  the  contest  between  beneficence  and  mo- 
desty! the  liberal  hand  and  the  disinterested  bosom!     Even 


JOB.  199 

tlie  receiver  divides  the  glory  with  his  divine  Benefactor ;  and 
his  generous  concern  for  others  returns  with  accumulated  bene- 
fits and  blessings  upon  himself. 

Attend  to  the  example  of  Job.  Under  the  pressure  of  his 
great  calamities  and  afflictions,  he  ajDplied  himself,  and  no 
wonder,  to  God  by  prayer ;  and  being  a  good  man,  we  may  be 
allowed  to  suppose,  that  his  petitions  were  not  fruitless.  But 
the  jDetition  which  achieved  his  recovery,  or,  however,  that 
which  he  was  offering  up  at  the  moment  in  which  it  pleased 
Almighty  God  to  accomplish  it,  was  a  petition  for  other  per- 
sons. It  is  written,  "  The  Lord  turned  the  capti\dty  of  Job, 
when  he  prayed  for  his  friends." 

How  signal  is  this  instance  of  God's  dispensations  !  what 
lustre  doth  it  reflect  upon  that  part  of  our  applications  to  Him, 
which  we  allot  to  the  benefit  of  our  brethren.  You  observe, 
that  this  eminent  pattern  of  piety  and  of  patience  had  been 
both  frequent  and  earnest  in  his  supplications  in  his  own 
favour ;  complaining,  pleading,  and,  like  another  Jacob,  wrest- 
ling with  God  :  "  0  that  my  grief  were  thoroughly  weighed  ! 
it  would  be  heavier  than  the  sand ;  and  my  words  are  swal- 
lowed up.  O  that  I  might  have  my  request,  that  God  would 
grant  me  the  thing  that  I  long  for !  Why  hast  thou  set  me  as 
a  mark  against  thee?  I  will  speak  in  the  bitterness  of  my 
soul ;  is  it  good  unto  thee,  that  thou  shouldest  oppress  1  that 
thou  shouldest  despise  the  work  of  thine  hands  1  Eemember, 
I  beseech  thee,  that  thou  hast  made  me  as  clay;  and  wilt 
thou  bring  me  into  dust  again  ?  " 

Job,  we  see,  was  sufficiently  vehement  in  his  own  behalf  : 
and  yet,  as  if  his  expostulations  were  all  in  vain,  "  Though  I 
speak,  saith  he,  my  grief  is  not  assuaged  :  and  though  I  for- 
bear, what  am  I  eased  1  God  hath  delivered  me  up  to  the 
ungodly.  He  breaketh  me  with  breach  upon  breach.  My 
face  is  foul  with  weeping,  and  on  my  eyelids  is  the  shadow  of 
death.     I  have  said  to  corruption,  Thou  art  my  father ;  to  the 


200  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

worm,  Thou  art  my  mother  and  my  sister.  God  hath  over- 
thrown me  :  I  cry  out  of  wrong,  but  I  am  not  heard ;  I  cry 
aloud,  but  there  is  no  judgment." 

Not  that  this  was  strictly  true ;  or  that  his  jietitions  even 
for  himself  were  utterly  without  effect.  God  Almighty  had 
mercy  in  store,  though  he  kept  it  back  from  him  all  the  long- 
time that  he  was  making  the  most  pathetic  supplications  for 
himself,  and  then  bestowed  it  when  he  began  to  pray  for 
others :  "  The  Lord  turned  the  captivity  of  Job,  when  he 
prayed  for  his  friends." 

Nay,  these  very  friends,  as  they  are  here  styled,  hardly 
merited  so  favourable  an  appellation ;  accusing  him  of  crimes 
he  had  not  committed,  and  upbraiding  him  mth  those  punish- 
ments of  his  sins,  which  were,  indeed,  the  trials  of  his  virtue. 
And  he  was  sensible  of  all  the  bitterness  of  their  reproaches  : 
"  Ye  overwhelm  the  fatherless  ;  ye  dig  a  pit  for  your  friend. 
If  your  soul  were  in  my  soul's  stead,  I  coidd  heap  up  words 
against  you,  and  shake  mine  head  at  you.  But  I  would 
strengthen  you  with  my  mouth ;  and  the  moving  of  my  lips 
should  assuage  your  grief.  He  teareth  me  in  his  wrath,  who 
hateth  me :  he  gnasheth  upon  me  with  his  teeth  :  mine 
enemy  sharpeneth  his  eyes  upon  me." 

Yet  was  it  required  of  Job  to  become  the  intercessor  for 
these  very  persons,  and  to  beg  for  them  the  forgiveness  of 
those  offences  which  had  been  committed  against  himself. 
And  then,  at  last,  after  this  illustrious  testimony  of  his  charity, 
added  to  those  of  his  patience  and  piety,  when  his  virtues 
were  thus  brought  to  the  height,  and  appeared  in  all  their 
glory,  then  it  pleased  the  A\dsdom  and  mercy  of  God,  brealdng 
forth  out  of  obscurity,  and  made  conspicuous  by  His  judgments, 
to  restore  and  double  his  prosjierity. 


THE  EESURRECTIOX  OF  CHEIST.  201 


^  .Socratic  Qialoguc. 

But  what  sceptic  was  ever  satisfied?  Wliat  caviller  con- 
futed? The  adversaries  of  our  faith  finding  no  further  re- 
sources on  the  plain  ground  of  common  sense,  make  their  last 
retreat  into  the  thorns  of  subtilty. 

The  resurrection,  it  seems,  was  an  event  so  strange,  that  no 
testimony  whatever  is  enough  to  prove  it.  The  story,  we  may 
be  sure,  is  not  true,  whoever  he  be  that  tells  it. 

On  what  foundation,  pray,  do  you  build  an  assurance  so 
very  absolute? 

On  the  foundation  of  experience. 

As  how? 

I  am  to  tell  you,  then,  that  v\^e  know  nothing  of  the  essence 
of  causality ;  but  found  all  our  assent  upon  similitude. 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  comprehend  you. 

YouL  cannot  be  possessed  of  so  fine  an  argument  in  its  per- 
fection, without  having  recourse  to  the  original  inventor.  It 
may  suffice  to  let  you  know  in  brief,  that  we  believe  always 
what  is  most  lihely,  and  call  that  most  likely  v/hich  most  re- 
sembles what  we  have  before  met  Vv'ith. 

But  things  often  fall  out  that  were  not  likely. 

Yes,  so  often,  that  we  find  it,  in  general,  likely  that  they 
should;  and  in  each  particular  case  reflect  which  of  the  two  is 
less  likely,  that  the  thing  should  be  as  it  is  represented,  or  the 
reporter  represent  it  falsely. 

Have  you  ever  found  in  the  course  of  your  experience  that 
anything  was  not  true  which  had  been  as  well  attested  as  the 
resurrection  ? 

It  was  a  miracle.  Experience,  therefore,  universal  expe- 
rience declares  against  it. 

That  of  the  five  hundred  brethren  who  saw  it  was,  sure,  on 
the  other  side. 


202  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

You  must  appeal  to  present  experience.  Nature  we  find 
unchangeable. 

Nature !  When  I  dispute  with  you  about  Christianity,  I 
suppose  that  you  believe  a  God. 

You  suppose  perhaps  too  fast. 

Then  I  have  no  further  dispute  with  you :  I  leave  you  to 
other  hands.  Christianity  desires  no  greater  honour  than  to 
be  received  by  every  one  that  is  not  an  atheist. 

Suj)pose  there  be  a  God :  what  then  ? 

Why,  then  he  made  the  world. 

Well? 

And  a  multitude  of  things  must  have  been  done  at  that 
time  of  the  creation,  which  are  not  comprehended  within  the 
present  course  of  nature.  Every  animal,  every  vegetable,  must 
have  been  brought  into  being  at  first  in  some  manner  of  which 
the  world  now  affords  no  examples.  Of  this  we  have  no  ex- 
perience, yet  we  allow  it  to  be  true;  and  w^e  need  no  testi- 
mony, for  we  know  it  must  have  happened. 

And  if  the  Son  of  God  were  to  assume  our  nature  a  second 
time,  and  be  once  more  crucified  and  buried,  according  to  the 
unalterable  laws  of  the  universe,  He  must  rise  again  from  the 
grave,  and  "  the  pains  of  death  be  loosed  "  as  before,  "  because 
it  was  not  possible  that  He  should  be  holden  of  it." 


[There  may  be  some  question  as  to  the  propriety  of  ascrib- 
ing to  a  Divine  speaker  a  discourse  like  the  following.  But  it 
must  be  accepted  as  the  author  designed  it — as  at  once  an 
epitome  and  paraphrase  of  the  Redeemer's  last  address  to  His 
disciples.  Without  adopting  all  its  sentiments,  we  are  glad  to 
quote  it,  as  coming  so  near  that  great  theme  of  "  Christ  cruci- 
fied," from  which  most  of  the  preaching  of  those  days  kept 
so  strangely  aloof] 


THE  LORD  S  SUPPEE.  ZOo 

Imagine  you  see  our  Divine  Redeemer  sitting  with  His 
disciples  at  His  last  supper,  and  hear  Him  addressing  Himself 
to  them  in  the  following  manner : — 

"  The  solemn  ceremonies  which  I  and  you  are  now  observ- 
ing, are  memorials,  you  know,  of  a  great  event  whieh  happened 
many  ages  ago  to  your  forefathers.  This  lamb  before  us  is  the 
representation  of  that  which  was  slam  and  eaten  by  them  m 
Egypt.  Come,  I  will  institute  a  new  rite,  to  be  kept  in  re- 
membrance of  what  shall  immediately  befall  myself  on  your 
account.  Before  the  evening  and  the  morning  shall  conclude 
the  present  day,  this  body  of  mine  shall  be  delivered  into  the 
hands  of  men,  and  they  shall  wound,  and  pierce,  and  kill  it. 
I  take  this  bread  into  my  hands,  and  break  it  to  pieces.  Take, 
eat;  it  is  my  body  which  is  given  for  you.  By  this  token  you 
shall  keep  in  memory  and  represent  to  all  ages  unto  the  end 
of  the  world,  this  '  precious  sacrifice,  fore-ordained  before  the 
foundation'  of  it,  and  now  going  to  be  offered  for  your  sake. 

"  My  Father,  who  is  in  heaven,  loves  me,  His  own  and  only 
begotten  Son,  with  a  tender  aud  unparalleled  affection.  He 
'  loved  me  before  the  foundation  of  the  world.'  And  though 
I  indeed  was  and  am  willmg  to  suffer,  yet  would  He  not  have 
sent  me  down  into  this  state  of  humiliation,  to  undergo  the 
sufferings  and  death  which  are  even  now  preparing  for  me,  if 
He  had  not  also  loved  you,  and  had  compassion  on  you,  though 
enemies  to  Him  by  evil  works,  and  dead  in  trespasses  and 
sins.  For  God  indeed  is  love.  It  is  the  chief  part  of  His 
very  nature,  which  it  is  possible  for  you  to  comprehend  and  to 
imitate.  Love  Him,  therefore,  who  is  love,  with  all  your  heart, 
and  mind,  and  strength.  This  is  the  first  and  gxeat  command- 
ment. Of  His  own  tender  pity  towards  a  lost  world.  He  sent 
me  to  do  and  suffer  aU  that  you  have  seen  and  shall  soon  see, 
for  the  benefit  of  men.  And  when  I  am  removed  from  you, 
and  you  see  me  no  more.  He  shall  give  you  another  Comforter, 
even  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  to  supply  the  want  of  my  presence. 


204:  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

and  conduct  that  great  work  of  the  salvation  of  mankind  for 
which  the  Father  sent  me,  and  for  which  I  am  come  willingly 
into  the  world. 

"  And  as  the  bread  which  I  broke  represented  my  crucified 
body,  so  this  cup  which  I  command  you  all  to  drink  of,  let  it 
signify  my  blood,  which  is  now  going  to  be  poured  out  for  all 
men. 

"  It  is  written,  that  '  it  is  the  blood  that  maketh  an  atone- 
ment for  the  soul.'  '  By  the  law  almost  all  things  are  purged 
with  blood :  and  without  the  shedding  of  blood  is  no  remis- 
sion.' But  it  is  not  possible  that  the  blood  of  bulls  and  of 
goats  should  take  away  the  sins  of  men.  That  was  required, 
and  was  available  only  as  a  type  of  my  blood,  now  to  be  shed, 
once  for  all.     Take  this  cup,  to  be  partakers  of  this  atonement. 

"  You  remember  also,  when  Moses  had  read  to  the  people 
the  book  of  the  covenant  between  God  and  them,  and  the 
people  consented  to  the  covenant,  and  said,  ^  All  that  the  Lord 
hath  said  will  we  do,  and  be  obedient,'  Moses  took  half  of  the 
blood  of  the  sacrifices,  and  sprinkled  it  on  the  altar,  and  the 
other  half  he  sprinkled  on  the  people,  and  said,  '  Behold  tho 
blood  of  the  covenant  which  the  Lord  hath  made  with  you.' 
The  blood  was  sprinkled  on  both  the  contracting  parties;  the 
one  half  on  the  altar,  representing  him  who  was  there  worship- 
ped, and  the  other  half  on  the  people  of  the  Jews. 

"  That  covenant  is  now  expirmg  in  my  death,  and  a  new  one 
is  to  be  made  with  all  the  nations  of  the  earth.  I  am  the  vic- 
tim offered  at  this  great  solemnity  on  the  altar  of  the  cross. 
Wlien  you  take  this  cup  you  ratify  this  new  covenant  on  your 
part,  and  give  your  consent  to  the  conditions  of  it. 

"  You  will  be  no  longer  bound  by  the  ceremonial  law.  It 
expires  of  course  with  me,  who  am  its  end  and  consum- 
mation. 

"  But  my  own  power  and  j^rovidence  shall  aboli.sh  it  more 
effectually,  and  execute  what  I  now  predict.     Some  even  of 


THE  FAEEAYELL  ADDRESS.  205 

yourselves,  to  whom  I  am  speaking,  shall  live  to  see  the  time, 
when  of  this  noble  temple,  the  work  of  so  many  years,  the 
wonder  of  so  many  ages,  '  there  shall  not  be  left  one  stone 
upon  another  that  shall  not  be  thrown  dow^i.' 

"  As  you  are  to  be  thankful  for  this  deliverance  from  '  a 
yoke  which  neither  your  fathers  nor  you  were  able  to  bear,'  so 
take  care  not  to  turn  your  liberty  into  licentiousness.  The 
sense  of  your  freedom  from  this  bondage  should  restrain  you 
from  violating  those  laws  which  are  of  everlasting  obligation. 
As  you  will  not  henceforth  bo  occupied  in  sacrifices,  and  other 
burdensome  ceremonies,  apply  yourselves  so  much  the  more  ta 
what  is  better. 

"  Look  upon  the  whole  race  of  mankmd  as  your  neighbours- 
and  brethren.  Embrace  them  with  a  cordial  and  unrestrained 
affection.  They  were  always  the  workmanship  of  the  same 
Creator,  and  bore  His  divine  image ;  they  are  now  to  be  re- 
deemed by  the  same  blood. 

"  Do  good  to  as  many  as  possible.  Imitate  in  this  your 
Father  which  is  in  heaven.  But  as  you  can  follow  Him  in 
doing  good  but  a  little  way,  come  nearer  to  His  example  in 
your  good  wishes  and  kind  intentions.  Let  there  be  no  limits 
to  the  exercise  of  this  part  of  your  charity.  Since  you  can 
never  repay  Him  anything  for  His  infinite  patience,  and  mercy, 
and  love  to  you,  love  men  for  His  sake.  He,  the  origin  of  all 
good,  is  exalted  above  all  recompense ;  but  you  can  reach  those 
who  belong  to  His  household ;  let  not  the  highest  among  you 
disdain  to  be  a  '  servant  to  wash  the  feet  of  the  servants  of 
your  Lord.' 

"  But  if  even  in  these  little  expressions  of  your  condescen- 
sion and  charity  your  abilities  are  still  too  weak  to  keep  pace 
with  your  inclination,  can  you  relent,  can  you  pardon  for  the 
love  of  God?  If  you  cannot  bestow  because  you  are  poor,  or 
labour  because  you  are  w^eak,  can  you  forgive  as  you  yourselves 
are  forgiven? 

VOL.  IV.  s 


206  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

"  Yet  once  more,  before  I  finally  deliver  this  cup  into  your 
hands,  never  again  myself  to  partake  of  the  like  refreshment  upon 
earth  j  since  what  I  now  say  to  you  are  almost  the  last  words 
that  I  shall  utter,  the  declaration  of  my  mind  at  such  a  time, 
my  orders,  injunctions  now,  ought  to  have  a  peculiar  weight ; 
they  are  my  dying  will  and  testament !  '  This  cup  is  the  new 
testament'  sealed  '  in  my  blood;'  take  it,  to  shew  that  you  lay 
claim  to  the  benefit  of  my  bequests,  and  appertain  to  the 
household  and  family  of  the  testator. 

"  You  must  continue  this  rite  among  yourselves  hereafter, 
when  I  am  gone  from  you,  and  deliver  it  down  to  be  observed 
to  the  end  of  the  world.  It  is  so  small  a  request,  that  I  can- 
not think  any  of  those  who  become  my  disciples  will  refuse  to 
comply  with  it. 

"  If  I  had  required  you  to  come  together  from  all  parts  to 
the  very  place  of  my  death,  and  there  shew  your  remembrance 
of  me  by  painful  fastings  or  costly  sacrifices,  I  had  but  copied 
after  the  example  of  former  institutions.  The  whole  nation 
almost  of  the  Jews  is  even  now,  you  see,  assembled  here  at 
Jerusalem  to  keep  the  passover.  And  this  is  but  one  of  the 
three  festivals  to  be  kej^t  aU  at  this  place.  The  easier  I  make 
my  commands  to  you  the  more  punctual  you  will  be  in  the 
observance  of  them. 

"  '  To  you  I  give  my  peace.  Not  as  the  world  giveth,'  in 
compliment  only,  and  without  either  meaning  or  consequence ; 
I  speak  with  authority.  I  am  still  that  Word  by  which  the 
worlds  were  made.  My  peace  is  the  pardon  of  your  sins, 
courage  and  consolation  under  all  troubles,  and  everlasting 
salvation. 

"  Farewell :  I  cannot  talk  more  with  you.  AU  things  are 
now  ready.  I  am  expected  by  him  that  betrayeth  me ;  and  I 
go  to  meet  him,  and  to  deliver  myself  into  his  hands.  The 
testament  Avhich  I  have  declared,  the  new  covenant  which  I 
establish,  the  atonement  which  I  have  undertaken,  are  now  to 


SKELTON.  207 

be  completed  and  ratified,  according  to  the  appointment  of 
Almighty  God,  by  me  in  my  own  blood.  Father,  I  come;  to 
do  thy  will;  to  fulfil  thy  word;  to  bear  thy  ^^Tath;  to  be  the 
sacrifice  for  the  world — a  willing  sacrifice  for  a  world  of 
sinners. 

"  Not  that  I  am  insensible  of  what  is  approaching ;  I  see  it 
in  all  its  terrors.  And  if  the  bitter  cnp  might  pass  from  me ! 
Alas !  for  this  very  cause  came  I  into  the  world.  Heavenly 
Father,  let  thy  will  be  done.  Hitherto  I  have  in  all  things 
done  thy  will.  I  prepare  now  to  suffer  in  obedience  to  it. 
And,  oh !  if  anything  that  I  have  ever  done,  if  all  that  I  now 
suffer,  avail  in  thy  sight ;  if  thou  hast  ever  loved  me,  or  wilt 
grant  anything  at  my  request,  Father,  have  mercy  on  the  poor 
race  of  men.  Pity  their  blindness,  pardon  their  folly,  lay  all 
their  iniquities  upon  my  head. 

"  Thus  redeemed,  they  shall  give  thanks  unto  thee  for  end- 
less ages;  they  shall  be  translated  from  earth  to  heaven;  and 
join  with  those  holy  angels  which  never  sinned,  in  celebrating 
thy  praises,  and  performing  thy  pleasure  to  all  eternity." 

PHILIP  SKELTON. 

One  of  our  most  amusmg  biographies  is  Burd/s  "  Life  of 
the  Kev.  Philip  Skelton."  A  native  of  Derriaghy,  near  Lis- 
bum,  where  he  was  born  February  1707,  he  passed  through  a 
ministry  of  sixty  years,  and  a  life  of  more  than  eighty,  devout, 
pugilistic,  tender-hearted,  plying  his  parishioners  wdth  fisticuffs 
or  the  gospel,  as  the  case  rec^uired — a  model  of  the  old-fashioned 
Irish  minister.  His  sermons  are,  like  himself,  coarse  and 
colossal,  and  through  the  lava-crust  of  a  style  eccentric  and 
caustic,  they  let  out  fine  bursts  of  human  tenderness  and  evan- 
gelical fervour.  He  died  May  4,  1787.  Our  extract  is  from 
a  sermon  entitled,  "  How  to  be  happy,  though  married."  He 
himself  was  a  bachelor. 


208  PULriT  ORATORS. 

IHatrimonial  Counsel 

Since  you  are  not  one,  but  two,  give  me  leave  to  remind  you 
of  a  few  tilings  separately,  and  you  first  who  are  the  husband. 

You  should  never  forget,  that  your  wife  hath  put  her  person, 
together  with  her  fortune,  into  your  hands,  as  into  those  of  the 
man  she  loved  best,  and  confided  most  in ;  and  that  she  did 
this,  in  a  jdeasing  expectation  of  finding  in  you  a  generous  and 
iitrenuous  protector  against  all  ill  treatment  from  others,  and 
all  the  distresses  and  troubles,  which  a  man  is  better  able  to 
repel  than  a  woman.  To  your  stronger  arms  and  more  cou- 
rageous bosom  her  feebler  nature  hath  fled  for  refuge  in  the 
bustle  of  a  crowded  and  boisterous  world,  through  which  she 
Ii:new  not  how  otherwise  to  make  her  way.  How  base,  how 
unmanly  a  breach  of  trust  would  it  be  in  you,  to  treat  her 
with  coldness,  contempt,  or  cruelty  ?  to  become  her  chief  op- 
pressor ?  and  to  force  from  her  broken  heart  the  melancholy 
wish,  to  be  again  where  you  found  her,  exposed  alone  to  a 
world,  hard  indeed  and  deceitful,  but  less  insensible  and  trea- 
cherous than  you  ?  It  is  true,  she  is  not  without  faults  ;  and 
who  is  ?  Are  you  ?  But  is  she  to  be  broke  off  those  by 
methods  fit  only  to  be  taken  with  a  beast  1  Have  you  no 
pity  for  her  weakness ;  you  who  must  be  lost  for  ever,  if  infi- 
nite pity  is  not  afforded  to  your  own  1  It  is  the  property  of  a 
coward  only  to  use  any  woman  ill ;  of  a  treacherous  and  cruel 
coward  to  use  that  woman  ill,  who  hath  no  protector  under 
heaven  but  you ;  and  to  whom  you  made  the  warmest  protes- 
tations before,  and  the  most  solemn  vows  at,  your  marriage,  of 
love  as  lasting  as  your  life.  What  man  in  the  world  would 
hurt  a  dove  or  sparrow,  though  but  a  brute,  to  which  he  had 
neither  offered  nor  promised  protection,  if  it  should  fly  to  his 
breast  from  the  talons  of  a  hawk  ?  But  if  you  will  not  hear 
me,  hear  the  word  of  God,  to  you  and  to  all  married  men ; 
"  Ye  husbands,  dwell  with  your  wives  according  to  knowledge, 


CONQUER  BY  KINDNESS.  209 

giving  honour  unto  the  wife,  as  unto  the  weaker  vessel.  Hus- 
bands, love  your  wives,  even  as  Christ  loved  the  Church;"  for 
which  He  thought  it  not  too  much  to  give  His  life.  "So 
ought  men  to  love  their  wives  as  their  own  bodies.  He  that 
loveth  his  wife  loveth  himself ;  for  no  man  ever  yet  hated  his 
own  flesh,  but  nourisheth  and  cherisheth  it,  even  as  the  Lord 
the  Church."  Take  notice  that  you  are  here  (without  any 
condition  of  proper  behaviour  on  the  part  of  your  wife),  forbid- 
den to  treat  her  with  bitterness,  and  commanded  to  shew  her 
that  love  which  Christ  hath  for  His  Church,  and  you  have  for 
yourself,  and  to  do  her  honour.  Nay,  you  are  "  to  see  that 
you  love  your  wife  even  as  yourself,"  though  she  should  be  not 
a  hair  less  infirm  and  faulty  than  yourself. 

On  the  other  hand,  you  who  are  a  woman,  and  married, 
should  never  forget  you  are  either.  You  should,  at  all  times, 
and  in  every  instance,  bear  in  mind  that,  as  a  woman,  gentle- 
ness and  pliancy  to  everything  but  vice  is  your  distinguishing- 
character.  The  person  and  face  of  an  angel,  -without  these 
peculiar  ornaments  of  your  sex,  mil  not  make  you  beautiful, 
nor  even  tolerable.  There  is  nothing  conceivable  so  unnatural, 
or  so  shocking,  as  you  are,  when  you  put  on  a  masculine,  not 
to  say  a  boisterous,  spirit,  and  set  up  for  an  object  of  fear. 
As  you  were  made  to  be  loved,  not  dreaded,  you  are  furnished 
with  every  preparative  for  the  former,  by  the  kind  indulgence 
of  nature ;  and  not  with  one  for  the  latter,  unless  you  will 
ascribe  to  nature  that  which  she  most  abhors  of  all  monsters — 
an  affectation  of  rudeness  and  imperious  violence,  accompanied 
with  so  much  fearfulness  of  mind  and  w^eakness  of  body.  And 
as  a  married  woman,  you  are  still  further  from  your  natural 
element  if  you  aim  at  a  superiority  over  your  husband,  whom 
you  are  obliged  by  nature,  by  Scripture,  and  by  your  vows,  to 
obey.  As  one  weak,  you  sought  at  first  for  a  protector ;  have 
your  vows  of  submission  given  you  so  much  strength,  that 
nothing  but  that  protector  will  now  serve  you  for  a  slave  ? 


210  rULPTT  ORATORS. 

You  want  to  carry  all  your  i)oints,  and  do  what  you  please ; 
and  we^  in  a  violent  stretch  of  courtesy,  will  grant  you  have 
none  but  good  ends  in  view,  but  must,  at  the  same  time,  take 
leave  to  demur  to  your  manner,  both  in  i^oint  of  agreeableness 
and  prudence.  If  the  agreeable  way  in  everything  is  the  best, 
it  must  be  more  so  in  you,  who  was  peculiarly  calculated  to 
please.  How  do  you  shock  us  with  the  reverse  !  Your  man- 
ner is  likewise  altogether  foolish,  and  shews  you  know  not 
Avhere  your  power  is  placed.  It  is  not  placed,  as  you  imagine, 
in  a  knack  of  disputing,  nor  in  the  brandish  of  a  high  hand, 
nor,  when  these  fail,  in  fits,  either  brought  on  by  struggles  too 
violent  for  your  wretched  frame  of  body,  or  opportunely  pre- 
tended, as  the  last  shift.  No,  your  power  lies  in  managing  the 
softer  and  gentler  passions.  Here  you  might  be  irresistible, 
and  do  everything,  did  not  the  insolence  of  your  spirit  set  you 
above  this  amiable  method.  In  the  other  way  you  can  do 
nothing  that  will  not  cost  you  a  thousand  times  more  than  it 
is  worth.  But  I  foresee  you  will  be  more  apt  to  be  angiy  at 
the  most  useful  advice  from  a  man,  than  at  your  own  folly  and 
pride ;  I  therefore  earnestly  beseech  you,  as  you  regard  your 
vows,  and  fear  God,  to  hear  Him  at  least,  who  saith  unto  you 
and  all  other  married  women,  "  Wives,  submit  yourselves  unto 
your  husbands,  as  unto  the  Lord ;  for  the  husband  is  the  head 
of  the  wife,  even  as  Christ  is  the  head  of  the  Church.  There- 
fore, as  the  Church  is  subject  unto  Christ,  so  let  the  wives  be 
to  their  own  husbands  in  everything.  Let  the  wife  see  that 
she  reverence  her  husband.  Wives,  submit  yourselves  unto 
your  o-wn  husbands,  as  it  is  fit  in  the  Lord.  Ye  wives,  be  in 
subjection  to  your  own  husbands."  This  last  precept  is  fol- 
lowed by  another,  enjoining  meekness  and  quietness  of  spirit, 
and  forbidding  an  expensive  vanity  in  dress.  Compare  your 
conduct,  and  the  spirit  it  proceeds  from,  with  these  words  of 
God,  and  judge  for  yourself,  whether  you  know  better  than  He 
docs  what  you  should  do.     Consider  also,  that  these  precepts 


DO  YOU  MEAN  TO  AMEND  1  211 

are  positive,  unconditional,  and  leave  you  no  excuse  for  a 
failure  in  your  duty,  let  your  husband's  behaviour  be  what  it 
will. 

Now  tell  us,  both  of  you,  whether,  after  all,  you  are  deter- 
mined to  go  on  as  heretofore,  and  give  us  a  proof  of  less  sense 
in  two  pretenders  to  rationality,  than  we  often  find  in  two  oxen 
or  sheep,  who  grow  more  tractable,  and  go  more  quietly  in  their 
yoke,  the  longer  they  have  carried  it ;  whether  you  are  still 
resolved,  at  your  own  expense,  to  shew  the  world  a  monster, 
with  one  body  and  two  heads,  each  of  them  furnished  with  two 
faces,  to  smile  or  frown  on  each  other,  as  dissimulation  or 
rancour  shall  set  their  features ;  and  whether,  in  a  word,  you 
can  think  of  any  longer  racking  your  minds  between  the  wide 
-extremes  of  fond  and  angry  fits,  in  so  swift  successions,  that 
all  the  good  part  of  mankind  are  amazed,  how,  after  such 
transports  of  tenderness,  you  can  ever  hate  each  other ;  and  all 
the  bad,  how  it  is  possible,  from  hatred  so  keen,  to  return  again  to 
instances  of  endearment  not  exceeded  between  those  who  never 
-quarrelled.  Here  is  the  very  sting  of  your  condition.  These 
starts  of  afiection  serve  but  to  give  you  a  more  thorough  sense 
of  the  mutual  hatred  which  immediately  follows,  and  fills  you 
with  bitterness  of  soul.  Could  you  live  asunder,  or  avoid  all 
occasions  of  kindness,  you  might  at  length  take  sanctuary  in 
indifference.  A  palsy  might  take  the  place  of  this  ague  in  your 
passions,  and  once  for  all  benumb  those  too  exquisite  feelings, 
which  contrariety,  at  present,  rubs  into  rawness,  and  keeps 
perpetually  alive.  Time,  which  alleviates  other  miseries,  would 
then  cease  to  aggravate  yours.  What  an  enemy  would  you 
think  him,  who  should  deprive  your  food  of  all  its  relish,  or 
cook  it  for  you  with  gall ;  who  should  rob  your  nights  of  sleep, 
X)oison  every  moment  of  your  time  with  grief  or  vexation, 
throw  all  your  afi*airs  into  confusion,  and  ruin  both  the  morals 
and  fortunes  of  your  children  !  This  enemy  you  are  (I  do  not 
say  to  each  other,  but)  you,  the  husband,  to  yourself;  and 


212  PULPIT  ORATOES. 

you,  the  wife,  to  yourself;  for  want  of  considering  that  you 
cannot  hurt  or  vex  her,  nor  you  hurt  or  vex  him,  without 
equally  hurting,  vexing,  and  tormenting  yourself,  for  you  can 
have  but  one  and  the  same  condition. 


BISHOP  PORTEUS. 

It  was  well  for  the  interests  of  religion,  that  during  a  very 
difficult  i^eriod,  viz.,  from  1787  to  1809,  the  see  of  London 
was  filled  by  a  prelate  so  judicious  and  so  faithful  to  his 
Master,  as  Dr  Beilby  Porteus.  The  services  which  he  ren- 
dered, as  the  opponent  of  the  slave  trade,  as  the  early  patron  of 
the  Bible  Society,  and  as  the  assiduous  promoter  of  the  better 
observance  of  the  Sabbath,  deserve  to  be  held  in  lasting  me- 
morial. 

Enforced  by  his  own  w^ell-known  personal  worth,  his  ser- 
mons produced  a  great  impression.  A  series  of  lectures  on 
Matthew,  which  he  delivered  on  the  Fridays  of  Lent,  drew 
together  a  concourse,  such  as  had  seldom  been  seen  at  a  week- 
day service ;  and  the  reader  will  not  the  less  rejoice  at  their 
popularity,  because  he  feels  that  in  order  to  be  popular  now, 
such  a  course  would  need  to  possess  attractions  which  he  can- 
not detect  in  the  published  specimens. 

Beilby  Porteus  was  born  at  York,  May  8,  1731,  and  died  at 
Fulham,  May  13,  1809. 

SEJe  (!r£nturi0n. 

The  next  remarkable  feature  in  the  character  of  the  centu- 
rion is  his  humility.  How  completely  this  most  amiable  of 
human  virtues  had  taken  possession  of  his  soul,  is  evident  from 
the  manner  in  which  he  solicited  our  Saviour  for  the  cure  of 
his  servant:  how  cautious,  how  modest,  how  diffident,  how 
timid,  how  fearful  of  offending,  even  whilst  he  was  only  beg- 


THE  CENTURION,  213 

ging  an  act  of  kiudness  for  another !  Twice  did  he  send  mes- 
sengers to  our  Lord,  as  thinking  himself  unworthy  to  address 
Him  in  his  own  person ;  and  when,  at  our  Saviour's  approach 
to  his  house,  he  himself  came  out  to  meet  Him,  it  was  only  to 
entreat  Him  not  to  trouble  Himself  any  further ;  for  that  he 
was  not  worthy  that  Jesus  should  enter  under  his  roof. 

This  lowliness  of  mind  in  the  centurion  is  the  more  remark- 
able, because  humility,  in  the  gospel  sense  of  the  word,  is  a 
virtue  with  which  the  ancients,  and  more  particularly  the 
Eomans,  were  totally  unacquainted.  They  had  not  even  a 
word  in  their  language  to  describe  it  by.  The  only  word  that 
seems  to  express  it,  humilitas,  signifies  baseness,  servility,  and 
meanness  of  spirit — a  thing  very  different  from  true  Christian 
humility ;  and  indeed  this  was  the  only  idea  they  entertained 
of  that  virtue.  Everything  that  we  call  meek  and  humble, 
they  considered  as  mean  and  contemptible,  A  haughty,  im- 
perious, overbearing  temper,  a  high  opinion  of  their  own  virtue 
and  wisdom,  a  contemi^t  of  all  other  nations  but  their  own,  a 
quick  sense  and  a  keen  resentment,  not  only  of  injuries,  but 
even  of  the  slightest  affronts,  this  was  the  favourite  and  pre- 
dominant character  among  the  Komans ;  and  that  gentleness  of 
disposition,  that  low  estimation  of  our  own  merits,  that  ready 
preference  of  others  to  ourselves,  that  feaifulness  of  giving 
offence,  that  abasement  of  ourselves  in  the  sight  of  God  which 
we  call  humility,  they  considered  as  the  mark  of  a  tame,  abject, 
and  unmanly  mmd.  When,  therefore,  we  see  this  virtuous 
centurion  differing  so  widely  from  his  countrymen  in  this 
respect,  we  may  certainly  conclude  that  his  notions  of  morality 
were  of  a  much  higher  standard  than  theirs,  and  that  his  dis- 
position peculiarly  fitted  him  for  the  reception  of  the  gospel. 
For  humility  is  that  virtue  which,  more  than  any  other,  dis- 
poses the  mind  to  }deld  to  the  evidences,  and  embrace  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Christian  revelation.  It  is  that  -sdrtue  which  the 
gospel  was  peculiarly  mean    to  produce,  on  wliich  it  lays  the 


214:  PULPIT  ORATORS. 

greatest  stress,  and  in  which,  perhaps,  more  than  any  other, 
consists  the  true  essence  and  vital  principle  of  the  Christian 
temper.  We  therefore  find  the  strongest  exhortations  to  it  in 
almost  every  page  of  the  gospel.  "  I  say  to  every  man  that  is 
among  you,"  says  St  Paul,  "  not  to  think  more  highly  of  him- 
self than  he  ought  to  think,  but  to  think  soberly.  Mind  not 
high  tilings :  be  not  wise  in  your  own  conceits,  but  condescend 
to  men  of  low  estate.  Stretch  not  yourselves  beyond  your 
measure.  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  says  our  Lord,  for 
theirs  is  the  Idngdom  of  heaven.  Whosoever  shall  humble 
himself  as  a  little  child,  the  same  is  greatest  in  the  king- 
dom of  heaven.  Though  the  Lord  be  high,  yet  hath  he  respect 
to  the  lowly.  As  for  the  proud,  he  beholdeth  them  afar  oK 
Humble  yourselves  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  lift 
you  up.  God  resisteth  the  proud,  but  giveth  gi-ace  to  the 
humble.  Learn  of  me,  says  our  Saviour,  for  I  am  meek  and 
lowly  in  heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls."'"'  .  .  . 

Such  were  the  distinguished  virtues  of  this  excellent  centu- 
rion, the  contemplation  of  whose  character  suggests  to  us  a 
variety  of  important  remarks. 

The  first  is,  that  the  miracles  of  our  Lord  had  the  fullest 
credit  given  to  them,  not  only  (as  is  sometimes  asserted)  by 
low,  obscure,  ignorant,  and  illiterate  men,  but  by  men  of  rank 
and  character,  by  men  of  the  world,  by  men  perfectly  competent 
to  ascertain  the  truth  of  any  facts  presented  to  their  observa- 
tion, and  not  likely  to  be  imposed  upon  by  false  pretences. 
Of  this  dcscrijotion  was  the  centurion  here  mentioned,  the 
Roman  proconsul  Sergius  Paulus,  Dionysius  a  member  of  the 
supreme  court  of  Areopagus  at  Athens,  and  several  others  of 
equal  dignity  and  consequence. 

Secondly,  the  history  of  the  centurion  teaches  us,  that  there 
is  no  situation  of  life,  no  occupation,  no  profession,  however 

*  Eom.  xii.  3,  6.  2  Cor,  x.  14.  Matt.  v.  3;  xviii,  4.  Psalm  cxxxviii.  6. 
James  iv.  6,  10.    Matt.  xi.  29. 


THE  CENTURION.  215 

\mfavourable  it  may  appear  to  the  cultivation  of  religion,  which 
precludes  the  possibility,  or  exempts  us  from  the  obligation,  of 
acquiring  those  good  dispositions,  and  exercising  those  Chris- 
tian virtues  wliich  the  gospel  requires.  Men  of  the  world  are 
^pt  to  imagine  that  religion  was  not  made  for  them;  that  it 
was  intended  only  for  those  who  pass  their  days  in  obscurity, 
retirement,  and  solitude,  where  they  meet  with  nothing  to 
interrupt  their  devout  contemplations,  no  allurements  to  divert 
their  attention  and  seduce  their  affections  from  heaven  and 
lieavenly  tilings.  But  as  to  those  whose  lot  is  cast  in  the  busy 
and  the  tumultuous  scenes  of  life,  who  are  engaged  in  various 
■occupations  and  professions,  or  surrounded  with  gaieties,  with 
pleasures  and  temptations,  it  cannot  be  expected  that  amidst  aU 
these  impediments,  interruptions,  and  attractions,  they  can  give 
up  much  of  their  time  and  thoughts  to  another  and  a  distant 
world,  when  they  have  so  many  tilings  that  press  upon  them 
and  arrest  their  attention  in  this. 

These,  I  am  persuaded,  are  the  i-eal  sentiments,  and  they  are 
perfectly  conformable  to  the  actual  practice,  of  a  large  part  of 
mankind.     But  to  all  these  pretences  the  instance  of  the  cen- 
turion is  a  direct,  complete,  and  satisfactory  answer.     He  was 
by  his  situation  in  life  a  man  of  the  world.     His  profession 
was  that  which,  of  all  others,  is  generally  considered  as  most 
adverse  to  religious  sentiments  and  habits,  most  contrary  to  the 
peaceful,  humane,  and  gentle  spirit  of  the  gospel,  and  most 
exposed  to  the  fascination  of  gaiety,  pleasure,  thoughtlessness, 
and  dissipation.     Yet  amidst  all  these  obstructions  to  purity  of 
heart,  to  mildness  of  disposition  and  sanctity  of  manners,  we 
see  this  illustrious  centurion  rising  above  all  the  disadvantages 
of  his  situation,  and,  instead  of  sinking  into  vice  and  irreligion, 
becoming  a  model  of  piety  and  humility,  and  all  those  virtues 
which  necessarily  spring  from  such  princii^les.      This  is  an 
unanswerable  proof,  that  whenever  men  abandon  themselves  to 
impiety,  infidelity,  and  profligacy,  the  fault  is  not  in  the  situa- 


216 


PULPIT  ORATORS. 


tion,  but  in  the  licart;  and  that  there  is  no  mode  of  life,  no 
employment  or  profession,  which  may  not,  if  we  please,  he 
made  consistent  with  a  sincere  belief  in  the  gospel,  and  with 
the  practice  of  every  duty  we  owe  to  our  IMaker,  our  Eedeemer, 
our  fellow-creatures,  and  ourselves. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  instance  in  point ;  for  it  is  extremely 
Temarkable,  and  well  worthy  our  attention,  that  among  all  the 
various  characters  we  meet  with  in  the  New  Testament,  there 
are  few  represented  in  a  more  amiable  light,  or  spoken  of  in 
stronger  terms  of  approbation,  than  those  of  certain  military 
men.  Besides  the  centurion  who  is  the  subject  of  this  lecture,  it 
was  a  centurion  who,  at  our  Saviour  s  crucifixion,  gave  that  volun- 
taiy,  honest,  and  unprejudiced  testimony  in  His  favour,  "  Truly 
this  was  the  Son  of  God.""'  It  was  a  centurion  who  gener- 
ously preserved  the  life  of  St  Paul,  when  a  proposition  was 
made  to  destroy  him  after  his  shipwreck  on  the  island  of 
Melita.t  It  was  a  centurion  to  whom  St  Peter  was  sent  by 
the  express  appointment  of  God,  to  make  the  first  convert 
among  the  Gentiles — a  distinction  of  which  he  seemed,  in  every 
respect,  worthy,  being,  as  we  are  told,  "  a  just  and  a  devout 
man,  one  that  feared  God  with  all  his  house,  that  gave  much 
alms  to  the  people,  and  prayed  to  God  alway."J 

We  see,  then,  that  our  centurion  was  not  the  only  military  man 
celebrated  in  the  gospel  for  his  piety  and  virtue;  nor  are  there 
wanting,  thank  God,  distinguished  instances  of  the  same  kind 
in  our  own  age,  in  our  own  nation,  among  our  own  commanders, 
and  in  the  recent  memory  of  eveiy  one  here  present.  All 
which  examples  tend  to  confirm  the  observation  already  made, 
of  the  perfect  consistency  of  a  military,  and  every  other  mode 
of  life,  with  a  firm  belief  in  the  doctrines  and  a  conscientious 
obedience  to  the  precepts  of  religion. 

*  Matt.  xvii.  5i.  t  Acts  xxvii.  43.  i  Acts  x.  2. 


THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

Sent  from  heaven,  but  little  thouglit  of— locked  up  in  that 
trite  small-printed  book,  the  Bible — lies  the  germ  of  moral  re- 
novation—the only  secret  for  making  base  spirits  noble,  and 
fallen  spirits  holy.  Received  into  the  confiding  heart,  and 
developed  in  congenial  affections,  it  comes  forth  in  all  the 
wonderful  varieties  of  vital  Christianity;  and,  according  as  the 
recipient's  disposition  is  energy  or  mildness,  activity  or  con- 
templation, it  creates  a  bold  reformer  or  a  benign  philanthro- 
pist— a  valiant  worker  or  a  far-seen  thinker.  In  bolts  that 
melt  as  well  as  burn,  it  flashes  from  Luther's  surcharged  spirit ; 
and  in  comprehensive  kindliness  spreads  its  warm  atmosphere 
round  Melancthon's  loving  nature.  In  streams  of  fervour 
and  fiery  earnestness  it  follows  Zuingie's  smoking  path,  and  in 
a  halo  of  excessive  brightness  encircles  Calvin's  awful  brow. 
In  impulses  of  fond  beneficence  it  tingles  in  Howard's  restless 
feet,  and  with  a  glow  of  more  than  earthly  affection  it  glad- 
dens the  abode  of  a  Venn  or  a  Richmond.  But,  whether  its 
manifestations  be  the  more  beauteous  or  the  more  majestic,  of 
all  the  influences  which  can  alter  or  ennoble  man,  it  is  beyond 
comparison  the  most  potent  and  pervasive.  In  the  sunny 
suffusion  with  which  it  cheers  existence,  in  the  holy  ambition 
which  it  kindles,  and  in  the  intensity  which  it  imparts  to 
character,  that  gospel  is  "  the  power  of  God." 

And  just  as  its  advent  is  the  grand  epoch  in  the  individual's 
progress,  so  its  scanty  or  copious  presence  gives  a  correspond- 
ing aspect  to  a  nation's  history.  When  its  power  is  feeble— 
when  few  members  of  the  community  are  up-borne  by  its  joy- 
ful and  strenuous  force — when  there  is  little  of  its  genial  in- 
fusion to  make  kindness  spontaneous,  and  when  men  forget  its 

VOL.  IV.  T 


218  THE  GEEAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

solemn  future,  wliich  renders  duty  so  urgent  and  self-denial  so 
easy — the  public  virtues  languish,  and  the  moral  grandeur  of 
that  empire  dies.  It  needs  something  of  the  gospel  to  produce 
a  real  patriot ;  it  needs  more  of  it  to  create  a  philanthropist ; 
and,  amidst  the  trials  of  temper,  the  seductions  of  party,  and 
the  misconstructions  of  motive,  it  needs  it  all  to  give  that 
patriot  or  philanthropist  perseverance  to  the  end.  It  needs  a 
wide  diffusion  of  the  gospel  to  fill  a  Parliament  with  high- 
minded  statesmen,  and  a  country  with  happy  homes.  And  it 
will  need  its  prevailing  ascendancy  to  create  peace  among  the 
nations,  and  secure  the  good- will  of  man  to  man. 

The  world  has  not  yet  exhibited  the  spectacle  of  an  entire 
people  evangelised ;  but  there  have  been  repeated  instances 
where  this  vital  element  has  told  perceptibly  on  national  cha- 
racter; and  in  the  nobler  tone  of  public  acting,  and  higher 
pulse  of  popular  feeling,  might  be  recognised  a  people  nearer 
God.  In  England,  for  example,  there  have  been  three  evan- 
gelic eras.  Thrice  over  have  ignorance  and  apathy  been 
startled  into  light  and  wonder ;  and  thrice  over  has  an  influen- 
tial minority  of  England's  inhabitants  felt  anew  all  the  good- 
ness or  grandeur  of  the  ancient  message.  And  it  is  instructive 
to  remark,  how  at  each  successive  awakening  an  imjDulse  was 
given  to  the  nation's  worth  which  never  afterwards  faded 
entirely  out  of  it.  Partial  as  the  influence  was,  and  few  as 
they  were  who  shared  it,  an  clement  was  infused  mto  the 
popular  mind,  which,  like  salt  imbibed  from  successive  strata 
by  the  mhieral  spring,  was  never  afterwards  lost,  but,  now  that 
ages  have  elapsed,  may  still  be  detected  in  the  national  charac- 
ter. The  Reformers  preached  the  gospel,  and  the  common 
people  heard  it  gladly.  Beneath  the  doublet  of  the  thrifty 
trader,  and  the  home-spun  jerkin  of  the  stalwart  yeoman,  was 
felt  a  throb  of  new  nobility.  A  monarch  and  her  ministers  re- 
motely graced  the  pageant ;  but  it  was  to  the  stout  music  of 
old  Latimer  that  the  English  Reformation  marched,  and  it  was 


THE  PURITAN  AWAKENING.  219 

a  freer  soil  which  iron  heels  and  wooden  sandals  trode  as  they 
clashed  and  clattered  to  the  burly  tune.  This  gospel  was 
the  birth  of  British  liberty.  Its  right  of  private  judgment 
revealed  to  many  not  only  how  precious  is  every  soul,  but 
how  important  is  every  citizen ;  and  as  much  as  it  deep- 
ened the  sense  of  religious  responsibility,  it  awakened  the 
desire  of  personal  freedom.  It  took  the  Saxon  churl,  and 
taught  him  the  softer  manners  and  statelier  spirit  of  his 
conqueror.  It  "  mended  the  mettle  of  his  blood,"  and  gave 
him  something  better  than  Norman  chivalry.  Quickening 
with  its  energy  the  endurance  of  the  Saxon,  and  tempering 
with  its  amenity  the  fierceness  of  the  Gaul,  it  completed  the 
amalgamating  process  of  many  ages,  and  produced  the  Eng- 
lishman. Then  came  the  Puritan  awakening — ^in  its  com- 
mencement the  most  august  revival  wliich  Europe  ever  wit- 
nessed. Stately,  forceful,  and  thrilling,  the  gospel  echoed  over 
the  land,  and  a  penitent  nation  bowed  before  it.  Long-fasting, 
much-reading,  deep-thinking — theology  became  the  literature, 
the  meditation,  and  the  talk  of  the  peoj^le,  and  religion  the 
business  of  the  realm.  With  the  fear  of  God  deep  in  their 
spirits,  and  with  hearts  soft  and  plastic  to  His  Word,  it  was 
amazing  how  promptly  the  sternest  requirements  were  con- 
ceded, and  the  most  stringent  reforms  carried  through.  Never, 
in  England,  were  the  things  temporal  so  trivial,  and  the  things 
eternal  so  evident,  as  when  Baxter,  all  but  disembodied,  and 
Howe,  wrapt  in  bright  and  present  communion,  and  AUein, 
radiant  with  the  joy  which  shone  through  him,  lived  before 
their  people  the  wonders  they  proclaimed.  And  never  among 
the  people  was  there  more  of  that  piety  which  looks  inward 
and  upAvard — which  longs  for  a  healthy  soul,  and  courts  that 
supernal  influence  which  alone  can  make  it  prosper;  never 
more  of  that  piety  which  in  every  action  consults,  and  in  every 
incident  recognises  Him  in  whom  we  move  and  have  our  beinff. 
Perhaps  its  long  regards  and  lofty  aspirations,  the  absence  of 


220  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

sliort  distances  in  its  field  of  view,  and  that  one  all-absorljing 
future  wliicli  had  riveted  its  eye,  gave  it  an  aspect  too  solemn 
and  ascetic — the  look  of  a  pilgrim  leaving  earth  rather  than 
an  heir  of  glory  going  home.  Still  it  was  England's  most  erect 
and  earnest  century ;  and  none  who  believe  that  worship  is  the 
highest  work  of  man  can  doubt  that,  of  all  its  predecessors, 
this  Puritan  generation  lived  to  the  grandest  purpose.  Pity 
that,  in  so  many  ears,  the  din  of  Naseby  and  Marston  Moor  has 
drowned  the  most  sublime  of  national  melodies — the  joyful 
noise  of  a  people  praising  God.  The  religion  of  the  period 
was  full  of  reverence  and  adoration  and  self-denial.  Connect- 
ing common  life  and  its  meanest  incidents  with  the  unseen 
realities,  and  advancing  to  battle  in  the  strength  of  psalms,  its 
worthies  w^ere  more  awful  than  heroes.  They  were  incorrup- 
tible and  irresistible  men,  who  lived  under  the  all-seeing  Eye 
and  leaned  on  the  omnipotent  Arm,  and  who  found  in  God's 
nearness  a  consecration  for  every  spot,  and  a  solemn  uplifting 
influence  for  every  moment.  Then,  after  a  dreary  interval — 
after  the  boisterous  irreligion  of  the  later  Stuarts  and  the  cold 
flippancy  which  so  long  outlived  them,  came  the  Evangelical 
Ptevival  of  last  century.  Full-hearted  and  affectionate,  some- 
times brisk  and  vivacious,  but  always  downright  and  i^ractical, 
the  gospel  of  that  era  spoke  to  the  good  sense  and  warm  feel- 
ings of  the  nation.  In  the  electric  fire  of  Whitefield,  the  rapid 
fervour  of  Komaine,  the  caustic  force  of  Berridge  and  Rowland 
Hill,  and  the  fatherly  wisdom  of  John  Newton  and  Henry 
Venn — in  those  modern  evangelists  there  was  not  the  momen- 
tum whose  long  range  demolished  error's  strongest  holds,  nor 
the  massive  doctrine  which  built  up  the  tall  and  stately  pile  of 
Puritan  theology.  That  day  was  past,  and  that  work  was  accom- 
plished. For  the  Christian  warfare  these  solcnni  ironsides  and 
deep-sounding  culverines  were  no  longer  wanted;  but,  equip- 
ped with  the  l)ricf  logic  and  telling  earnestness  of  their  eager 
sincerity,  tlie  lighter  troops  of  this  modern  campaign  scoured 


MODEEN  CHRISTIANITY.  221 

the  country,  and  brought  in,  company  by  company,  the  happy 
captives  whom  they  intercepted  amongst  the  "  highways  and 
hedges."  The  great  glory  of  this  recent  gospel  is  the  sacred 
element  which  it  has  infused  into  an  age  which,  but  for  it, 
would  be  wholly  secular,  and  the  sustaining  element  which  it 
has  inspired  into  a  community  which,  but  for  its  blessed  hope, 
would  be  toil-worn  and  life-weary.  No  generation  ever 
drudged  so  hard  as  this,  and  yet  none  has  worked  more  cheerily. 
None  was  ever  so  tempted  to  churlish  selfishness,  and  yet 
none  has  been  more  bountiful,  and  given  such  strength  and 
wealth  away.  And  none  was  ever  more  beset  with  facilities 
for  \ice  and  folly,  and  yet  none  has  more  abounded  in  disin- 
terested characters  and  loving  families  full  of  loveliness. 
Other  ages  may  surpass  it  in  the  lone  grandeur  and  awful 
goodness  of  some  pre-eminent  name ;  but  in  the  diffusion  of 
piety,  in  the  simplicity  and  gladness  of  domestic  religion,  and 
in  the  many  forms  of  intelligent  and  practical  Christianity,  it 
surpasses  them  all.  With  "God  is  Love"  for  the  sunny 
legend  in  its  open  sky,  and  with  Bible-texts  efflorescing  in 
every-day  duties  round  its  agile  feet,  this  latter  gospel  has  left 
along  its  path  countless  specimens  of  talents  consecrated  and 
industry  evangelised.  Nor  till  all  missionaries  like  Henry 
Martyn  and  John  Williams,  and  all  sweet  singers  like  Kirk 
White  and  Jane  Taylor,  and  aU  friends  of  humanity  Kke  Fowell 
Buxton  and  Elizabeth  Fry,  have  passed  away;  nor  till  the 
Bible,  Tract  and  Missionary  Societies  have  done  their  work, 
will  it  be  known  how  benign  and  heart- expanding  was  that 
gospel  largess  which  a  hundred  years  ago  began  to  bless  the 
land.  Three  evangelic  eras  have  come,  and  two  of  them  are 
gone.  The  first  of  these  made  its  subjects  Bible-readers,  brave 
and  free.  The  second  made  them  Bible-smgers,  fuU  of  its 
deep  harmonies  and  high  devotion,  and  from  earthly  toil  and 
tumult  hid  in  the  pavilion  of  its  stately  song.  The  third  made 
them  Bible-doers,  kind,  liberal,  and  active,  and  social  withal — 

t2 


222  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

mutually  attPtactivc  and  mutually  confiding — loving  to  ^York 
and  worship  together.  The  first  found  the  English  commoner 
little  better  than  a  serf;  but  it  gave  him  a  patent  of  nobility, 
and  converted  his  cottage  into  a  castle.  The  second  period 
saw  that  castle  exalted  into  a  sanctuary,  and  heard  it  re-echo 
with  worship  rapt  and  high.  And  the  third  blended  all  the 
rest  and  added  one  thing  more :  in  the  cottage,  castle,  sanctu- 
ary, it  planted  a  pious  fiimily  living  for  either  world — diligent 
but  tranquil,  manly  but  devout,  self-contained  but  not  exclu- 
sive, retired  but  redundant  with  truest  life;  and  in  this  crea- 
tion it  jDroduced  the  most  blessed  tiling  on  earth — a  happy 
Christian  English  Home. 

Never  has  century  risen  on  Christian  England  so  void  of 
soul  and  faith  as  that  which  opened  with  Queen  Anne,  and 
which  reached  its  misty  noon  beneath  the  second  George — a 
dewless  night  succeeded  by  a  sunless  dawn.  There  was  no 
freshness  in  the  past,  and  no  promise  in  the  future.  The 
memory  of  Baxter  and  Ussher  possessed  no  spell,  and  calls  to 
revival  or  reform  fell  dead  on  the  echo.  Confessions  of  sin, 
and  national  covenants,  and  all  projects  towards  a  public  and 
visible  acknowledgment  of  the  Most  High,  were  voted  obsolete, 
and  the  golden  dreams  of  Westminster  worthies  only  lived  in 
Hudibras.  The  Puritans  were  buried  and  the  Methodists  were 
not  born.  The  philosopher  of  the  age  was  Bolingbroke,  the 
moralist  was  Steele,  the  minstrel  was  Po^dc,  and  the  preacher 
was  Atterbury.  The  world  had  the  idle  discontented  look  of 
the  mornmg  after  some  mad  holiday;  and,  like  rocket-sticks 
and  the  singed  paper  from  last  night's  squibs,  the  spent  jokes 
of  Charles  and  Rochester  lay  all  about,  and  people  yawned  to 
look  at  them.  It  was  a  listless,  joyless  morning,  when  the 
slip-shod  citizens  were  cross,  and  even  the  merry- Andrew  joined 
the  incurious  pubHc,  and,  forbearing  his  ineffectual  pranks,  sat 
down  to  wonder  at  the  vacancy.  The  reign  of  buffoonery  was 
past,  but  the  reign  of  faith  and  earnestness  had  not  commenced. 


A  DISPENSATION  DEPARTING.  223 

During  the  first  forty  years  of  tliat  century,  the  eye  that  seeks 
for  spiritual  life  can  hardly  find  it ;  least  of  all  that  hopeful 
and  diffusive  life  which  is  the  harbinger  of  more.  "  It  was 
taken  for  granted  that  Christianity  was  not  so  much  as  a  sub- 
ject for  inquiry,  but  was  at  length  discovered  to  be  fictitious. 
And  men  treated  it  as  if  this  were  an  agreed  point  among  all 
people  of  discernment." '''  Doubtless  there  were  divines,  like 
Beveridge  and  Watts  and  Doddridge,  men  of  profound  devo- 
tion, and  desirous  of  doing  good;  but  the  little  which  they 
accomplished  only  shews  how  adverse  was  the  time.  And 
their  appearance  was  no  presage.  They  were  not  the  Ararats 
of  an  emerging  economy.  The  zone  of  piety  grew  no  wider, 
and  they  saw  no  symptoms  of  a  new  world  appearing.  But, 
like  the  Coral  Islands  of  the  Southern  Pacific,  slowly  descend- 
ing, they  were  the  dwindling  peaks  of  an  older  dispensation, 
and  felt  the  water  deepening  round  them.  In  their  devout  but 
sequestered  walk,  and  in  their  faithful  but  mournful  appeals  to 
their  congregations  and  country,  they  looked  like  the  pensive 
mementoes  of  a  glory  departed,  not  the  hopeful  precursors  of  a 
glory  to  come.  Eemembrance  and  regret  are  feeble  reformers ; 
and  the  story  of  godly  ancestors  has  seldom  shamed  into  re- 
pentance their  lax  and  irreverent  sons.  The  power  which 
startles  or  melts  a  people  is  zeal  surcharged  with  faith  in  the 
great  realities,  and  baptized  with  the  fire  of  heaven — that  fer- 
vour which,  incandescent  with  hope  and  confidence,  bursts  in 
flame  at  the  sight  of  a  glorious  future,  and  which,  heaping 
"coals  of  fire"  on  the  heads  of  opponents,  at  once  consumes 
the  obstacle,  and  augments  its  own  transforming  conflagration. 

Of  this  power  the   splendid  example  was  WniTEFiELD.f 

The  son  of  a  Gloucester  innkeeper,  and  sent  to  Pembroke 

College,  his  mind  became  so  iDurdened  with  a  sense  of  sin,  that 

he  had  little  heart  for  study.     God  and  eternity,  a  holy  law 

-''  Bishop  Butler.  f  Born  1714.    Died  1770. 


224  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

and  liis  own  personal  shortcoming,  Ts^erc  thonglits  wliich 
hamited  every  moment,  and  compelled  liim  to  live  for  the 
salvation  of  his  soul;  but,  except  his  tutor  Wesley  and  a  few 
gownsmen,  he  met  with  none  who  shared  his  earnestness. 
And  though  earnest,  they  were  all  more  or  less  in  error.  Among 
the  influential  minds  of  the  University  there  was  no  one  to 
lead  them  into  the  knowledge  of  the  gospel,  and  they  had  no 
religious  guides  except  the  genius  of  the  place  and  books  of 
their  own  choosing.  The  genius  of  the  place  was  an  ascetic 
quietism.  Its  libraries  full  of  clasped  schoolmen  and  tall 
fathers,  its  cloisters  so  solemn  that  to  congenial  spirits  a  hearty 
laugh  or  hurried  step  seemed  sinful,  and  its  halls  lit  with  medie- 
val sunshine,  perpetually  invited  their  inmates  to  meditation 
and  silent  recollection ;  whilst  the  early  tinkle  of  the  chapel 
bell  and  the  frosty  routine  of  winter  matins,  the  rubric  and 
the  founder's  rules,  proclaimed  the  religious  benefits  of  bodily 
exercise.  The  Komish  postern  had  not  then  been  re-opened; 
but  with  no  devotional  models,  save  the  marble  Bernards  and 
de  Wykhams,  and  no  spiritual  illumination  except  what  came 
in  by  the  North  windows  of  the  past,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
ardent  but  reverential  spirits  should  in  such  a  place  have 
unwittingly  groped  into  a  Romish  pietism.  AVith  an  awakened 
conscience  and  a  resolute  will,  young  Whitefield  went  through 
the  sanatory  specifics  of  A-Kempis,  Castanza,  and  AVilliam 
Law;  and,  in  his  anxiety  to  exceed  all  that  is  required  by  the 
rubric,  he  would  fast  during  Lent  on  black  bread  and  sugarless 
tea,  and  stand  in  the  cold  till  his  nose  was  red  and  liis  fingers 
blue,  whilst,  in  the  hope  of  temptation  and  wild  beasts,  he  would 
wander  through  Christ-Church  meadows  over  dark.  It  was 
whilst  pursuing  this  course  of  self-righteous  fanaticism  that  he 
was  seized  with  alarming  illness.  It  sent  him  to  his  Bible, 
and,  whilst  praying  and  yearning  over  his  Greek  Testament,  the 
"  open  secret"  flashed  upon  his  view.  The  discovery  of  a  com- 
pleted and  gratuitous  salvation  filled  with  ecstasy  a  spirit  pre- 


WHITEFIELD.  225 

pared  to  appreciate  it,  and  from  tlieir  great  deep  breaking,  his 
affections  thenceforward  flowed,  impetuous  and  uninterrupted, 
in  the  one  channel  of  love  to  that  fSaviour  who,  on  his  behalf, 
had  performed  all  things  so  excellently.  The  Bishop  of  Glou- 
cester ordained  him,  and  on  the  day  of  his  ordination  he  wrote 
to  a  friend,  "  Whether  I  myself  shall  ever  have  the  honour  of 
styling  myself  '  a  prisoner  of  the  Lord '  I  know  not ;  but,  in- 
deed, my  dear  friend,  I  can  call  heaven  and  earth  to  witness 
that,  when  the  Bishop  laid  his  hand  upon  me,  I  gave  myself 
up  to  be  a  martyr  for  Him  who  hung  upon  the  Cross  for  me. 
Known  unto  Him  are  all  future  events  and  contingencies.  I 
have  thrown  myself  blindfold,  and,  I  trust,  without  reserve, 
into  His  Almighty  hands ;  only  I  would  have  you  observe,  that, 
till  you  hear  of  my  dying  for  or  in  my  work,  you  will  not  be 
apprised  of  all  the  preferment  that  is  expected  by  George 
Whitefield."  In  this  rapture  of  self-devotion  he  traversed 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  for  four  and  thirty  years,  and 
crossed  the  Atlantic  thirteen  times,  proclaiming  the  love  of 
God  and  His  unspeakable  gift  to  man.  A  bright  and  exultmg 
view  of  the  atonement's  sufficiency  was  his  theology;  delight 
in  God  and  rejoicing  in  Christ  Jesus  were  his  piety;  and  a 
compassionate  solicitude  for  the  souls  of  men,  often  rising  to  a 
fearful  agony,  was  his  ruling  passion;  and  strong  in  the  one- 
ness of  his  aim  and  the  intensity  of  his  feelings,  he  soon  burst 
the  regidar  bounds,  and  began  to  preach  on  commons  and 
village  greens,  and  even  to  the  rabble  at  London  fairs.  He 
was  the  prince  of  English  preachers.  Many  have  surpassed 
him  as  sermon-makers,  but  none  have  ajDproached  him  as  a 
pulpit  orator.  .?»Iany  have  outshone  him  in  the  clearness  of 
their  logic,  the  grandeur  of  their  conceptions,  and  the  spark- 
ling beauty  of  single  sentences ;  but  in  the  power  of  darting  the 
gospel  direct  into  the  conscience  he  eclii^sed  them  all.  AVith 
an  open  beaming  countenance,  and  the  frank  and  easy  port 
which  the  English  people  love — for  it  is  the  symbol  of  honest 


226  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

purpose  and  friendly  assur.ince— lie  combined  a  voice  of  rich 
compass,  -vvhicli  could  equally  tlirill  over  Moorfields  in  musical 
thunder,  or  whisper  its  terrible  secret  in  every  individual  ear ; 
and  to  this  gainly  aspect  and  tuneful  voice  he  added  a  most 
expressive  and  eloquent  action.  Improved  by  conscientious 
practice,  and  instinct  with  his  earnest  nature,  this  elocution 
was  the  acted  sermon,  and  by  its  pantomimic  portrait  enabled 
the  eye  to  anticipate  each  rapid  utterance,  and  helped  the 
memory  to  treasure  up  the  palpable  ideas.  None  ever  used  so 
boldly,  nor  with  more  success,  the  highest  styles  of  impersona- 
tion. His  "Hark!  hark!"  could  conjure  up  Gethsemane 
with  its  faltering  moon,  and  awake  again  the  cry  of  horror- 
stricken  Innocence ;  and  an  apostrophe  to  Peter  on  the  holy 
Mount  would  light  up  another  Tabor,  and  drown  it  in  glory 
from  the  opening  heaven.  His  thoughts  were  possessions,  and 
His  feelings  were  transformations ;  and  if  He  spake  because 
He  felt.  His  hearers  understood  because  they  saw.  They  were 
not  only  enthusiastic  amateurs,  like  Garrick,  who  ran  to  weep 
and  tremble  at  his  bursts  of  passion,  but  even  the  colder  critics 
of  the  Walpole  school  were  surprised  into  momentary  sympathy 
and  reluctant  wonder.  Lord  Chesterfield  was  listening  in 
Lady  Huntingdon's  pew  when  Whitefield  was  comparing  the 
benighted  sinner  to  a  blind  beggar  on  a  dangerous  road.  His 
little  dog  gets  away  from  him  when  skirting  the  edge  of  a 
precipice,  and  he  is  left  to  explore  the  path  with  his  iron-shod 
staff.  ■  On  the  very  verge  of  the  cliff  tliis  blind  guide  slips 
through  his  fingers,  and  skims  away  down  the  abyss.  All  un- 
conscious, its  owner  stoops  down  to  regain  it,  and,  stumbling 
forward — "  Good  God !  he  is  gone !"  shouted  Chesterfield,  who 
had  been  watching  with  breathless  alarm  the  blind  man's 
movements,  and  who  jumped  from  his  seat  to  save  the  cata- 
strophe. But  the  glory  of  Whitefield's  preaching  was  its  heart- 
kindled,  heart-melting  gospel.  But  for  this  all  his  bold  strokes 
and  brilliant  surprises  might  have  been  no  better  than  the 


THE  SOLDIER  OF  THE  CROSS.  227 

rhetorical  triiimplis  of  Kirwan  and  other  pulpit  dramatists. 
He  was  an  orator,  but  he  only  sought  to  be  an  evangelist. 
Like  a  volcano  where  gold  and  gems  may  be  darted  forth  as 
well  as  common  tilings,  but  where  gold  and  molten  granite 
flow  all  alike  in  fieiy  fusion,  bright  thoughts  and  splendid 
images  might  be  projected  from  his  flaming  pulpit,  but  all 
were  merged  in  the  stream  w^hich  bore  along  the  gospel  and 
himself  in  blended  fervour.  Indeed,  so  simple  was  his  nature, 
that  glory  to  God  and  goodwill  to  man  having  filled  it,  there 
was  room  for  little  more.  Having  no  church  to  found,  no 
family  to  enrich,  and  no  memory  to  immortalise,  he  was  the 
mere  ambassador  of  God;  and,  inspired  with  its  genial  piteous 
spirit — so  full  of  Heaven  Reconciled  and  Humanity  Restored 
— ^he  soon  himself  became  a  living  gospel.  Radiant  with  its 
benignity,  and  trembling  with  its  tenderness,  by  a  sort  of 
spiritual  induction  a  vast  audience  would  speedily  be  brought 
into  a  frame  of  mind — the  transfusion  of  his  own;  and  the 
white  furrows  on  their  sooty  faces  told  that  Kingswood  colliers 
were  weeping,  or  the  quivering  of  an  ostrich  plume  bespoke  the 
deep  emotion  in  which  its  fashionable  wearer  bowed  her  head. 
And  coming  to  his  work  direct  from  communion  with  his 
Master,  and  in  all  the  strength  of  believing  prayer,  there  was 
an  elevation  in  his  mien  which  often  paralysed  hostility,  a 
self-possession  which  only  made  him,  amid  uproar  and  fury, 
the  more  sublime.  With  an  electric  bolt  he  would  bring  the 
jester  in  his  fool's  cap  from  his  perch  on  the  tree,  or  galvanise 
the  brick-bat  from  the  skulking  miscreant's  grasp,  or  sweep 
down  in  crouching  submission  and  shame-faced  silence  the 
whole  of  Bartholomew  Fair ;  whilst  a  revealing  flash  of  sen- 
tentious doctrine  or  vivified  Scripture  would  disclose  to  awe- 
struck hundreds  the  forgotten  verities  of  another  world,  or  the 
unsuspected  arcana  of  their  inner  man.  "  I  came  to  break 
your  head,  but,  through  you,  God  has  broken  my  heart,"  was  a 
sort  of  confession  with  which  he  was  familiar  ;  and  to  sec  the 


22S  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

deaf  old  gentlewoman,  who  used  to  mutter  imprecations  at  him 
as  he  jDassed  along  the  street,  clambering  up  the  pulpit-stairs 
to  catch  his  angelic  words,  was  a  sort  of  spectacle  which  the 
triumphant  gospel  often  witnessed  in  his  day.  And  when  it 
is  known  that  his  voice  could  be  heard  by  twenty  thousand, 
and  that  ranging  all  the  empire,  as  well  as  America,  he  would 
often  preach  thrice  on  a  working-day,  and  that  he  has  received 
in  one  week  as  many  as  a  thousand  letters  from  persons 
awakened  by  his  sermons ;  if  no  estimate  can  be  formed  of  the 
results  of  his  ministry,  some  idea  may  be  suggested  of  its  vast 
extent  and  singular  effectiveness. 

The  folio  whig  codicil  was  added  to  AVhitefield's  will  :  ''  N.B. 
— I  also  leave  a  mourning  ring  to  my  honoured  and  dear 
friends,  the  Rev.  John  and  Charles  Wesley,  in  token  of  my  in- 
dissoluble union  with  them,  in  heart  and  Christian  affection, 
notwithstanding  our  difference  in  judgment  about  some  parti- 
cular points  of  doctrine." 

The  "  points  of  doctrine "  were  chiefly  the  extent  of  the 
atonement  and  the  perseverance  of  the  saints  ;  the  "  indis- 
soluble union"  was  occasioned  by  their  all-absorbing  love  to  the 
same  Saviour,  and  untiring  efforts  to  make  known  His  glory 
and  His  grace.  They  disagreed  a  little,  but  they  loved  a  great 
deal  more.  Few  characters  could  be  more  completely  the  con- 
verse, and,  in  the  Church's  exigencies,  more  ha^ipily  the  sup- 
plement of  one  another,  than  were  those  of  George  Whiteficld 
and  John  Wesley  ;""'  and  had  their  views  been  identical, 
and  their  labours  all  along  coincident,  their  large  services  to 
the  gospel  might  have  repeated  Paul  and  Barnabas.  AVhite- 
field  was  soul,  and  Wesley  was  system.  Whitefield  was  a 
summer-cloud  which  burst  at  morning  or  noon  in  fragrant  ex- 
hiharation  over  an  ample  tract,  and  took  the  rest  of  the  day  to 
gather  again  ;  Wesley  was  the  polished  conduit  in  the  midst 
*  J3orn  1703.    Died  1791. 


JOHN  WESLEY.  220 

of  the  garden,  throiigli  wliicli  the  living  water  glided  in  pearly 
brightness  and  perennial  music,  the  same  vivid  stream  from  day 
to  day.  After  a  preaching  paroxysm,  Whitefield  lay  panthig 
on  his  couch,  spent,  breathless,  and  death-like  ;  after  his  morn- 
ing sermon  in  the  Foundry,  Wesley  would  mount  his  pony, 
and  trot  and  chat  and  gather  simples,  till  he  reached  some 
country  hamlet,  where  he  would  bait  Ms  charger,  and  talk 
through  a  little  sermon  Vvitli  the  villagers,  and  remount  his 
pony  and  trot  away  again.  In  his  aerial  poise,  Whitefield's 
eagle  eye  drank  lustre  from  the  source  of  light,  and  loved  to 
look  down  on  men  in  assembled  myriads ;  Wesley's  falcon 
glance  did  not  sweep  so  far,  but  it  searched  more  keenly  and 
marked  more  minutely  where  it  pierced.  A  master  of  assem- 
blies, Whitefield  was  no  match  for  the  isolated  man ; — seldom 
coping  with  the  multitude,  but  strong  in  astute  sagacity  and 
personal  ascendancy,  Wesley  could  conquer  any  number  one 
by  one.  All  force  and  impetus,  Whitefield  was  the  powder- 
blast  in  the  Cjuarry,  and  by  one  explosive  sermon  would  shake 
a  district,,  and  detach  materials  for  other  men's  long  work  ; 
deft,  neat,  and  painstaldng,  Wesley  loved  to  split  and  trim 
each  fragment  into  uniform  plinths  and  polished  stones.  Or, 
taken  otherwise,  Whitefield  was  the  bargeman  or  the  waggoner 
who  brought  the  timber  of  the  house,  and  Wesley  was  the 
architect  who  set  it  up.  Whitefield  had  no  patience  for  eccle- 
siastical polity,  no  aptitude  for  pastoral  details  ;  with  a  beaver- 
like propensity  for  building,  Wesley  was  always  constructing 
societies,  and,  with  a  king-like  craft  for  ruling,  was  most  at 
home  when  presiding  over  a  class  or  a  conference.  It  was  their 
own  infelicity  that  they  did  not  always  work  together ;  it  was 
the  happiness  of  the  age  and  the  furtherance  of  the  gospel  that 
they  lived  alongside  of  one  another.  Ten  years  older  than  his 
pupil,  Wesley  was  a  year  or  two  later  of  attaining  the  joy  and 
freedom  of  gospel-forgiveness.  It  was  whilst  listening  to 
Luther's  Preface  to  the  Romans,  where  he  describes  the  change 

VOL.  IV.  u 


230  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS, 

v/hicli  God  works  in  the  heart  through  faith  in  Christ,  that  he 
felt  his  own  heart  strangely  warmed;  and  findhig  that  he 
trusted  in  Christ  alone  for  salvation,  "  an  assurance  was  given 
hun  that  Christ  had  taken  away  his  sins,  and  saved  him  from 
the  law  of  sin  and  death."  And  though  in  his  subsequent 
piety  a  subtle  analyst  may  detect  a  trace  of  that  mysticism 
which  was  his  first  religion — even  as  to  his  second  religion, 
jMoravianism,  he  was  indebted  for  some  details  of  his  eventual 
church-order — no  candid  reader  wHl  deny  that  "  righteous- 
ness, peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost,"  had  now  become 
the  religion  of  the  Methodists  ;  and  for  the  half  century  of  his 
ubiquitous  career  his  piety  retained  this  truly  evangelic  type. 
A  cool  observer,  who  met  him  towards  the  close,  records,  "  so 
fine  an  old  man  I  never  saw.  The  happiness  of  his  mind 
beamed  forth  in  his  countenance.  Every  look  shewed  how 
fully  he  enjoyed  'the  gay  remembrance  of  a  life  well  spent;' 
and  wherever  he  went,  he  diifused  a  portion  of  his  own  felicity. 
Easy  and  affable  in  his  demeanour,  he  accommodated  himself 
to  every  sort  of  company,  and  shewed  how  happily  the  most 
finished  courtesy  may  be  blended  with  the  most  perfect  piety. 
In  his  conversation,  we  might  be  at  a  loss  whether  to  admire 
most  his  fine  classical  taste,  liis  extensive  knowledge  of  men 
and  things,  or  his  overflowing  goodness  of  heart.  While  the 
grave  and  serious  were  charmed  with  his  wisdom,  his  sportive 
sallies  of  innocent  mirth  delighted  even  the  young  and  thought- 
less; and  both  saw,  in  his  uninterrupted  cheerfulness,  the  excel- 
lency of  true  Eeligion."  *  To  a  degree  scarcely  paralleled,  his 
piety  had  supplanted  those  strong  instincts — the  love  of 
worldly  distinction,  the  love  of  money,  and  the  love  of  ease. 
The  answer  which  he  gave  to  his  brotlier,  when  refusing  to 
vindicate  himself  from  a  newspaper  calunmy,  "  Brother,  when 
I  devoted  to  God  my  ease,  my  time,  my  life,  did  I  except  my 
reputation?"  was  no  casual  sally,  but  the  system  of  his  con- 
*  Alexander  Knox. 


SILVER  SPOONS.  231 

duct.  From  the  moment  that  the  Fellow  of  Lincoln  went 
out  into  the  high-ways  and  hedges,  and  commenced  itinerant 
preacher,  he  bade  farewell  to  earthly  fame.  And  perhaps  no 
Englishman,  since  the  days  of  Bernard  Gilpin,  has  given  so 
much  away.  When  his  income  was  thirty  pounds  aryear,  he 
lived  on  twenty-eight,  and  saved  two  for  charity.  ISText  year 
he  had  sixty  pounds,  and  still  living  on  twenty-eight,  he  had 
thirty-two  to  S2:>end.  A  fourth  year  raised  his  income  to  a 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  and,  steadfast  to  his  plan,  the 
poor  got  ninety-two.  In  the  year  1775,  the  Accountant- 
General  sent  him  a  copy  of  the  Excise  Order  for  a  return  of 
Plate;  "Kev.  Sir, — As  the  Commissioners  cannot  doubt  but 
you  have  plate,  for  which  you  have  hitherto  neglected  to  m.ake 
an  entry,"  &c. ;  to  which  he  wrote  this  memorable  answer : — 
"Sir, — I  have  two  silver  tea-spoons  at  London,  and  two  at 
Bristol.  This  is  all  the  plate  which  I  have  at  present;  and  I 
shall  not  buy  any  more  while  so  many  around  me  want  bread. 
I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant,  John  Wesley."  And 
though  it  is  calculated  that  he  must  have  given  more  than 
twenty  thousand  pounds  away,  aU  liis  property,  when  he  died, 
consisted  of  his  clothes,  his  books,  and  a  carriage.  Perhaps, 
like  a  ball  burnished  by  motion,  his  perpetual  activity  helped 
to  keep  him  thus  brightly  clear  from  worldly  pelf;  and  when 
we  remember  its  great  pervading  motive,  there  is  something 
sublime  in  this  good  man's  industry.  Rising  every  morning 
at  four,  travelling  every  year  upwards  of  4000  miles,  and  in 
that  space  preaching  nearly  a  thousand  sermons,  exhorting 
societies,  editing  books,  writing  all  sorts  of  letters,  and  giving 
audience  to  all  sorts  of  people,  the  ostensible  president  of 
Methodism  and  pastor  of  aU  the  Methodists,  and  amidst  his 
ceaseless  toils  betraying  no  more  bustle  than  a  planet  in  its 
course,  he  was  a  noble  specimen  of  that  fervent  diligence 
which,  launched  on  its  orbit  by  a  holy  and  joyful  impulse,  has 
ever  afterwards  the  peace  of  God  to  light  it  on  its  way.     Nor 


232  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

slioulcl  wc  forget  his  praiseworthy  efforts  to  diffiTse  a  Christian- 
ised i^hilosophy,  and  propagate  useful  knowledge  among  reli- 
gious people.  In  the  progress  of  research,  most  of  his  com- 
pilations may  have  lost  their  value;  but  the  motive  was 
enlightened,  and  the  eJffort  to  exemplify  his  own  idea  was 
characteristic  of  the  well-informed  and  energetic  man.  In 
Christian  authorship  he  is  not  entitled  to  rank  high.  Clear 
as  occasional  expositions  are/  there  is  seldom  comprehension 
in  his  views,  or  grandeur  in  his  thoughts,  or  inspiration  in  his 
practical  appeals;  and  though  his  direct  and  simple  style  is 
sometimes  terse,  it  is  often  meagre,  and  very  seldom  racy. 
His  voluminous  Journals  are  little  better  than  a  turnpike  log 
— miles,  towns,  and  sermon  texts — whilst  their  authoritative 
tone  and  self-centering  details  give  the  record  an  air  of  arro- 
gance and  egotism  Vv^hich,  we  doubt  not,  would  disappear  could 
w^e  view  the  venerable  "UTitcr  face  to  face.  Assuredly  his 
power  was  in  his  presence.  Such  fascination  resided  in  his 
saintly  mien,  there  was  such  intuition  in  the  twinkle  of  his 
mild  but  lirilliant  eye,  and  such  a  dissolving  influence  in  his 
lively,  benevolent,  and  instructive  talk,  that  enemies  often  left 
him  admii-ers  and  devotees.  And  should  any  regard  the 
Wesleyan  system  as  the  mere  embodiment  of  Mr  Wesley's 
mind,  it  is  a  singidar  triumph  of  worth  and  firmness.  Never 
has  a  theological  idiosyncracy  perpetuated  itself  into  a  Church 
so  large  and  stable.  But  though  every  pin  and  cord  of  the 
Methodist  tabernacle  bears  trace  of  the  fingers,  concinnate  and 
active,  which  reared  it,  the  founder's  most  remarkable  memo- 
rial is  his  living  monument.  Wesley  has  not  passed  away; 
for,  if  embalmed  in  the  Connexion,  he  is  re-embodied  in  the 
members.  Never  did  a  leader  so  stamp  his  impress  on  his 
followers.  The  Covenanters  were  not  such  fac-similes  of 
Knox ;  nor  were  the  imperial  guards  such  enthusiastic  copies 
of  their  little  corporal,  as  are  tlie  modern  ]\Icthodists  the  per- 
fect transmigration  of  their  venerated  Father.     Exact,  orderly 


JAMES  HERVEY.  233 

and  active;  apart  from  the  Establishment,  but  not  dissenters; 
connexional  but  Catholic;  intimately  bound  up  in  one  another, 
but  nobly  courteous  toward  all  their  Christian  neighbours; 
obliging  without  effort,  and  liberal  on  system ;  serene,  contented, 
hopeful — if  we  except  the  master-spirits,  whose  type  is  usually 
their  own — the  most  of  pious  Methodists  are  cast  from  Wesley's 
neat  and  cheerful  mould.  That  goodness  must  have  been 
attractive  as  well  as  very  imitable,  which  has  reproduced  itself 
in  so  many  myriads  of  living  effigies. 

Whilst  a  college  tutor,  Mr  Wesley  numbered  among  his 
pupils,  along  with  George  Whitefield,  James  Hervey.*  To  his 
kind  and  intelligent  teacher  he  owed  superior  scholarship,  and 
along  with  a  knowledge  of  Hebrew,  a  taste  for  natural  science ; 
but  at  Oxford  he  did  not  learn  theology.  Pure  in  his  conduct 
and  correct  in  his  clerical  deportment,  his  piety  was  cold  and 
stiff.  It  had  been  acquired  among  the  painted  apostles  and 
sculptured  martyrs  of  Alma  Mater,  and  lacked  a  quickening 
spirit.  Talking  to  a  ploughman  who  attended  Dr  Doddridge, 
he  asked,  "  What  do  you  think  is  the  hardest  thing  in  re- 
ligion ?"  "  Sir,"  said  the  ploughman,  "  I  am  a  poor  man,  and 
you  are  a  minister;  will  you  allow  me  to  return  the  ques- 
tion ?"  "  Well,"  said  Mr  Hervey,  "  I  think  the  hardest  thing 
is  to  deny  sinful  self;"  and  enlarged  at  some  length  on  the  dif- 
ficulties of  self-mortification.  At  last  the  ploughman  inter- 
posed— "  But,  Mr  Hervey,  you  have  forgotten  the  most  diffi- 
cult part  of  self-denial,  the  denial  of  righteous  self"  Though 
conscious  of  some  defect  in  his  own  religion,  the  young  clergy- 
man looked  with  disdain  at  the  old  fool,  and  wondered  what 
he  meant.  Soon  afterwards,  however,  a  little  book,  on  "  Sub- 
mission to  the  Eighteousness  of  God,"  put  meaning  into  the 
ploughman's  words ;  and  Mr  Hervey  wondered  how  he  could 
have  read  the  Bible  so  often,  and  overlooked  its  revelation  of 

*  Born  1714.     Died  1758. 

u2 


234  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

rigliteousness.  When  he  saw  it  he  rejoiced  with  exceeding 
joy.  It  solved  every  problem,  and  filled  every  void.  It  lit 
up  the  Bible,  and  it  enkindled  his  personal  Christianity.  It 
gave  emancipation  to  his  spirit,  and  motive  to  his  ministry ; 
and  whilst  it  filled  his  own  soul  with  happiness  it  made  him 
eaiier  to  transmit  the  benefit.  But  his  frame  was  feeble.  It 
was  all  that  he  could  do  to  get  through  one  sermon  every  Sab- 
bath in  his  little  church  of  Weston-Favell ;  and  the  more  his 
spirit  glowed  within,  the  more  shadowy  grew  his  tall  and 
wasted  form.  He  could  not,  like  his  old  tutor  and  his  college 
friend,  itinerate ;  and  so  he  was  constrained  to  write.  In  In- 
dian phrase,  he  pressed  his  soul  on  paper.  With  a  pen  dipped 
in  the  rainbow,  and  with  aspirations  after  a  celestial  vocabu- 
lary, he  proceeded  to  descant  on  the  glories  of  his  Bedeemer's 
person,  and  the  riches  of  His  great  salvation.  He  published 
his  ^Meditations,  and  then  the  Dialogues  between  Theron  and 
Aspasio ;  and  then  he  grew  too  weak  even  for  this  fire-side 
work.  Still  the  spirit  burned,  and  the  body  sank.  "  You 
have  only  a  few  minutes  to  live,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  spare 
yourself."  "  No,  doctor,  no ;  you  tell  me  that  I  have  but  a 
few  minutes — 0  let  me  spend  them  in  adoring  our  great  Be- 
deemer."  And  then  he  began  to  expatiate  on  the  exhaustless 
theme,  till,  with  the  words  "precious  salvation"  on  his  lips, 
utterance  ceased.  He  leaned  his  head  against  the  side  of  the 
easy-chair,  and  shut  his  eyes,  and  died,  on  the  Christmas 
afternoon. 

Last  century  was  the  first  in  which  pious  people  cared  much 
for  literary  style,  and  Hervey  was  almost  the  first  evangelical 
writer  who  studied  the  graces  of  composition.  It  is  not  there- 
fore surprising  that  his  ornaments  should  be  more  distinguished 
for  profusion  and  brilliant  hues  than  for  simplicity  and  ele- 
gance. ]\Iost  people  admire  peonies  and  martagon-lilies  be- 
fore they  learn  to  love  grasses,  and  mosses,  and  ferns.  We 
used   to  admire  them   ourselves,  and  felt  that  summer  was 


STYLE  OF    "  THE  MEDITATIONS."  235 

not  fully  blown  till  we  saw  it  sure  and  certain  in  these  ample 
and  exuberant  flowers.  Yes,  and  even  now  we  feel  that  it 
would  make  a  warmer  June  could  we  love  peonies  and  marta- 
gons  as  we  loved  them  in  days  of  yore.  Hervey  was  a  man  of 
taste  equal  to  liis  age,  and  of  a  warmth  and  venturesomeness 
beyond  it.  He  introduced  the  poetical  and  picturesque  into 
religious  literature,  and  became  the  Shenstone  of  theology. 
And  although  he  did  what  none  had  dared  before  him,  the 
world  was  ready,  and  his  success  was  rapid.  The  Meditations 
evangelised  the  natural  sciences,  and  the  Dialogues  embowered 
the  old  divinity.  The  former  was  philosophy  in  its  right 
mind,  and  at  the  Saviour's  feet ;  the  other  was  the  Lutheran 
dogma,  relieved  from  the  academic  go^vn,  and  keeping  health- 
ful holiday  in  shady  woods  and  by  the  mountain  stream.  The 
tendency  of  his  writings  was  to  open  the  believer's  eye  in 
kindness  and  w^onder  on  the  works  of  God,  and  their  effort  was 
to  attract  to  the  Incarnate  Mystery  the  heart  surprised  or  soft- 
ened by  these  works.  We  cannot,  at  the  distance  of  a  centuiy, 
recall  the  fascination  which  surrounded  them  when  newly  pub- 
lished, when  no  similar  attempts  had  forestalled  their  fresh- 
ness, and  no  imitations  had  blown  their  vigour  into  bombast. 
But  we  can  trace  their  mellow  influence  still.  We  see  that 
they  have  helped  to  make  men  of  faith  men  of  feeling,  and 
men  of  piety  men  of  taste.  Over  the  bald  and  rugged  places 
of  systematic  orthodoxy,  they  have  trained  the  sweetest  beau- 
ties of  creation  and  the  softest  graces  of  piety,  and  over  its 
entire  landscape  have  shed  an  illumination  as  genial  as  it  is 
growthful  and  clear.  If  they  be  not  purely  classical,  they  are 
perfectly  evangelical  and  singularly  adapted  to  the  whole  of 
man.  Their  cadence  is  in  our  popular  preaching  still,  and  may 
their  spirit  never  quit  our  Christianity!  It  is  the  spirit  of 
securest  faith,  and  sunniest  hope,  and  most  seraphic  love. 
And  though  it  may  be  dangerous  for  young  divines,  like 
Samuel  Parr,   to    copy  their  descriptive  melody,   it  were  a 


236  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

blessed  ambition  to  emulate  their  author's  large  and  light- 
some piety — his  heart  "  open  to  the  whole  noon  of  nature," 
and  through  all  its  brightness  drinking  the  smile  of  a  present 
God. 

In  the  middle  of  last  century  evangelical  religion  derived  its 
great  impulse  from  the  three  now  named.  But  though  there 
were  none  to  rival  WhitefielcVs  flaming  eloquence,  or  Wesley's 
versatile  ubiquity,  or  the  popularity  of  Hervey's  gorgeous  pen, 
there  were  many  among  their  contemporaries  who,  as  one  by 
one  they  learned  the  truth,  in  their  own  department  or  district 
did  their  utmost  to  diffuse  it.  In  Cornwall,  there  was  Walker 
of  Truro;  in  Devon,  Augustus  Toplady;  in  Shropshire,  was 
Fletcher  of  Madeley;  in  Bedfordshire,  there  was  Berridge  of 
Everton ;  in  Lincolnshire,  Adams  of  Wintringham ;  in  York- 
shire, were  Grimshaw  of  Haworth,  and  Venn  of  Huddersfield ; 
and  in  London  was  William  Eomaine — besides  a  goodly 
number  who,  with  less  renown,  were  earnest  and  wise  enough 
to  win  many  souls. 

In  the  summer  of  174G,  Samuel  Walker*  came  to  be 
curate  of  the  gay  little  capital  of  Western  Cornwall.  He  was 
clever  and  accomplished — had  learned  from  books  the  leading 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  and,  whilst  mainly  anxious  to  be  a 
popular  preacher,  and  a  favourite  with  his  fashionable  hearers, 
had  a  distinct  desire  to  do  them  good — but  did  them  none. 
The  master  of  the  grammar  school  was  a  man  of  splendid 
scholarship,  and  the  most  famous  teacher  in  that  county,  but 
much  hated  for  his  piety.  One  day  IMr  Walker  received  from 
Mr  Conon  a  note,  with  a  sum  of  money,  rcquestuig  him  to  pay 
it  to  the  Custom-house.  For  his  health  he  had  been  advised 
to  drink  some  French  wine,  but  on  that  smuggling  coast  could 
procure  none  on  which  duty  had  been  paid.  Wondering 
whether  this  tenderness  of  conscience  pervaded  all  his  charac- 
*  Born  1714.     Died  1761. 


SUCCESS  AMONG  SOLDIERS.  237 

ter,  Mr  Walker  sought  Mr  Conon's  acquaintance,  and  was 
soon  as  completely  enchained  by  the  sweetness  of  his  disposi- 
tion, and  the  fascination  of  his  intercouse,  as  he  was  awed  and 
astonished  by  the  purity  and  elevation  of  his  conduct.  It  was 
from  the  good  treasure  of  this  good  man's  heart  that  :\Ir 
Walker  received  the  gospel.  Having  learned  it,  he  proclaimed 
it.  Truro  was  in  uproar.  To  hear  of  their  absolute  depra- 
vity, and  to  have  urged  on  them  repentance  and  the  need  of  a 
new  nature  by  one  who  had  so  lately  mingled  in  all  their 
gaieties,  and  been  the  soul  of  genteel  amusement,  was  first 
startling,  and  then  offensive.  The  squire  was  indignant;  fine 
ladies  sulked  and  tossed  their  heads;  rude  men  interrupted 
him  in  the  midst  of  his  sermon;  and  the  rector,  repeatedly 
called  to  dismiss  him,  was  only  baftled  by  liv  Walker's 
urbanity.  But  soon  faitliful  preacliing  began  to  tell;  and  in 
]\Ir  Walker's  case  its  intrinsic  power  was  aided  by  his  insight 
into  character,  and  his  mastery  over  men.  In  a  few  years 
upwards  of  eight  hundred  parishioners  had  called  on  him  to 
ask  what  they  must  do  for  their  soul's  salvation;  and  his  time 
was  mainly  occupied  in  instructing  large  classes  of  his  hearers 
who  wished  to  live  godly,  righteous,  and  sober  in  this  evil 
world.  The  first  fruits  of  his  ministry  was  a  dissolute  youth 
who  had  been  a  soldier,  and  amongst  this  description  of  people 
he  had  his  greatest  success.  One  November,  a  body  of  troops 
arrived  in  his  parish  for  winter  quarters.  He  immediately 
commenced  an  afternoon  sermon  for  their  special  benefit.  He 
found  them  grossly  ignorant.  Of  the  seven  best  instructed 
six  were  Scotchmen,  and  the  seventh  an  English  dissenter. 
And  they  were  reluctant  to  come  to  hear  him.  At  first,  when 
marched  to  church,  on  arriving  at  the  door,  they  turned  and 
walked  away.  But  when  at  last  they  came  under  the  sound 
of  his  tender  but  energetic  exhortations,  the  effect  was  instan- 
taneous. With  few  exceptions  tears  burst  from  every  eye,  and 
confessions  of  sin  from  almost  every  mouth.     In  less  than  nine 


238  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

weeks  no  fewer  tlian  two  hundred  and  fifty  had  souglit  his 
private  instructions;  and  though  at  first  the  officers  were 
alarmed  at  such  an  outbreak  of  Methodism  among  their  men, 
so  evident  was  the  improvement  which  took  place — so  rare  had 
l^unishments  become,  and  so  promptly  were  commands  obeyed 
— that  the  officers  waited  on  Mr  Walker  in  a  body,  to  thank 
him  for  the  reformation  he  had  effected  in  their  ranks.  On 
the  morning  of  their  march  many  of  these  brave  fellows  were 
heard  praising  God  for  having  brought  them  under  the  sound 
of  the  gospel,  and  as  they  caught  the  last  glimpses  of  the 
town,  exclaimed,  "  God  bless  Truro !"  Indeed,  Mr  Walker 
had  much  of  the  military  in  his  own  composition.  The  disen- 
cumbered alertness  of  his  life,  the  courage,  frankness,  and 
through-going  of  liis  character,  the  firmness  with  which  he 
held  his  post,  the  practical  valour  vnth  which  he  followed  up 
his  preacliing,  and  the  regimental  order  into  which  he  had 
organised  his  people,  betokened  the  captain  in  canonicals;  as 
the  hardness  of  his  services,  and  his  exulting  loyalty  to  his 
Master,  proclaimed  the  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ. 

In  the  adjacent  county  of  Devon,  and  in  one  of  its  seques- 
tered parishes,  ^vith  a  few  cottages  sprinkled  over  it,  mused 
and  sang  Augustus  Toplady.*  When  a  lad  of  sixteen,  and  on 
a  visit  to  Ireland,  he  had  strolled  into  a  barn  where  an  ilhtc- 
rate  layman  was  preaching,  but  preaching  reconciliation  to 
God  through  the  death  of  His  Son.  The  homely  sermon  took 
effect,  and  from  that  moment  the  gospel  wielded  all  the 
powers  of  his  brilliant  and  active  mind.  He  was  very  learned. 
Universal  history  spread  before  his  eye  a  familiar  and  delight- 
ful field;  and  at  thirty-eight  he  died,  more  widely-read  in 
Fathers  and  Reformers  than  most  academic  dignitaries  can 
boast  when  their  heads  are  hoary.  He  was  learned  because 
he  was  active.  Like  a  race-horse,  all  nerve  and  fire,  his  life 
*  Born  1740.    Died  1778. 


TOPLADY.  239 

was  on  tip-toe,  and  liis  delight  was  to  get  over  tlie  grx3und. 
He  read  fast,  slept  little,  and  often  wrote  like  a  whirlwind ; 
and  though  the  body  was  weak  it  did  not  obstruct  him,  for  in 
his  ecstatic  exertions  he  seemed  to  leave  it  behind.  His  chief 
publications  were  controversy.  Independently  of  his  theologi- 
cal convictions,  his  philosophising  genius,  his  up-going  fancy, 
and  his  devout,  dependent  piety,  were  a  multiform  Calvinism; 
and  by  a  necessity  of  nature,  if  religious  at  all,  the  religion  of 
Toplady  must  have  been  one  where  the  eye  of  God  filled  all, 
and  the  will  of  God  wrought  all.  The  doctrines  which  were 
to  himself  so  plain,  he  was  perhaps  on  this  account  less  fitted 
to  discuss  with  men  of  another  make  ;  and  betwixt  the  strength 
of  his  own  belief,  and  the  sjjurning  haste  of  his  over-ardent 
spirit,  he  gave  his  works  a  frequent  air  of  scornful  arrogance 
and  keen  contemptuousness.  Perhaps,  even  with  theologians 
of  his  own  persuasion,  his  credit  has  been  injured  by  the 
warmth  of  his  invective ;  but  on  the  same  side  it  will  not  be 
easy  to  find  treatises  more  acute  or  erudite — and  both  friends 
and  foes  must  remember,  that  to  the  writer  his  opinions  were 
self-evident,  and  that  in  his  devoutest  moments  he  believed 
God's  glory  was  involved  in  them.  It  was  the  polemic  press 
which  extorted  this  human  bitterness  from  his  spirit ;  in  the 
pulpit's  milder  urgency  nothing  flowed  but  balm.  His  voice 
was  music,  and  devotion  and  sanctity  seemed  to  emanate  from 
his  ethereal  countenance  and  light  unmortal  form.  His  vi- 
vacity would  have  caught  the  listener's  eye,  and  his  soul-filled 
looks  and  movements  would  have  interpreted  his  language, 
had  there  not  been  such  commanding  solemnity  in  his  tones 
as  made  apathy  impossible,  and  such  simplicity  in  his  words 
that  to  hear  was  to  understand.  From  easy  explanations  he 
advanced  to  rapid  and  conclusive  arguments,  and  warmed  into 
importunate  exhortations,  till  consciences  began  to  burn  and 
feelings  to  take  fire  from  his  own  Idndled  spirit,  and  himself 
and  his  hearers  were  together  drowned  in  sympathetic  tears. 


240  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

And  for  all  the  saving  power  of  Iiis  preaching  relying  on  the 
Holy  Spirit's  inward  energy,  it  was  remarkable  how  much 
was  accomplished  both  at  Broad  Hembiiry,  and  afterwards  in 
Orange  Street,  London.  He  was  not  only  a  polemic  and  a 
preacher,  but  a  poet.  He  has  left  a  few  hymns  w^hich  the 
Church  militant  will  not  readily  forget.  "  When  languor  and 
disease  invade,"  "  A  debtor  to  mercy  alone,"  "  Rock  of  ages, 
.cleft  for  me,"  "Deathless  principle,  arise:"  these  four  com- 
bine tenderness  and  grandeur  with  theological  fulness  equal  to 
any  kindred  compositions  in  modern  language.  It  would 
seem  as  if  the  finished  work  were  embalmed,  and  as  if  the 
lively  hope  were  exulting  in  every  stanza ;  w^hilst  each  person 
of  the  glorious  Godhead  radiates  majesty,  grace,  and  holiness 
through  each  successive  line.  However,  to  amass  knowledge 
so  fast,  and  give  out  so  rapidly  not  only  thought  and  learning, 
but  warm  emotion,  was  wasteful  work.  It  was  like  bleeding  the 
palm-tree  ;  there  flowed  a  generous  sap  Vv'hich  cheered  the  heart 
of  aU  who  tasted,  but  it  killed  the  palm.  Consumption  struck 
him,  and  he  died.  But  during  that  last  illness,  he  seemed  like  one 
reclining  in  the  very  vestibule  of  glory.  To  a  friend's  inquiry, 
with  sparkling  eye  he  answered,  "  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  I  cannot  tell 
you  the  comforts  I  feel  in  my  soul :  they  are  past  expression. 
The  consolations  of  God  are  so  abundant  that  He  leaves  me 
nothing  to  pray  for.  My  prayers  are  all  converted  into  praise. 
I  enjoy  a  heaven  already  in  my  soul."  And  within  an  hour 
of  dying  he  called  his  friends,  and  asked  if  they  could  give 
him  up ;  and  when  they  said  they  could,  tears  of  joy  ran 
down  his  cheeks  as  he  added,  "  Oh,  what  a  blessing  that  you 
are  made  willing  to  give  hie  over  into  the  hands  of  my  dear 
Redeemer,  and  part  with  me ;  for  no  mortal  can  live  after  the 
glories  wliicli  God  has  manifested  to  my  soul." 

At  Everton  in  Bedfordshire,  not  fiir  from  the  spot  where  John 
Banyan  had  been  a  preacher  and  a  prisoner,  lived  and  laboured 


JOHN  EEEPJDGE.  241 

a  nican  not  unlike  him,  tlie  most  amusing  and  most  affecting- 
original  of  all  this  school— John  Berridge/'     For  long  a  dis- 
tinguished member  of  Clare  Hall,  Cambridge,  and  for  many 
years  studying  fifteen  hours  a-day,  he  had  enriched  his  mascu- 
line understanding  with  all  sorts  of  learning;  and  when  at  last 
he  became  a  parish  minister,  he  applied  to  his  labours  all  the 
resources  of  a  mind  eminently  practical,  and  all  the  vigour  of 
a  very  honest  one.     But  his  success  was  small — so  small  that 
he  began  to  suspect  his  mode  was  wrong.     After  prayer  for 
light  it  was  one  day  borne  in  upon  his  mind,  "  Cease  from 
thine  own  works;  only  believe;"  and  consulting  his  Concor- 
dance, he  was  surprised  to  see  how  many  columns  were  re- 
quired for  the  words  faith  and  helieve.     Through  this  quaint 
inlet  he  found  his  way  into  the  knowledge  of  the  gospel  and 
the  consequent  love  of  the  Saviour;  and  though  hampered 
with  academic  standing,  and  past  the  prime  of  life,  he  did  not 
hesitate  a  moment  to  reverse  his  former  preaching,  and  the 
efficacy  of  the  Cross  was  soon  seen  in  his  altered  parish.     His 
mind  was  singular.     So  predominant  was  its  Saxon  alkali, 
that  poetry,  sentiment,  and  classical  allusion,  whatever  else 
came  into  it,  was  sure  to  be  neutralised  into  a  salt  of  common 
sense — pathetic,  humorous,  or  practical  as  the  case  might  be; 
and  so  strong  was  his  fancy  that  every  idea  in  re-appearing 
sparkled  into  a  metaphor  or  emblem.     He  thought  in  proverbs, 
and  he  spoke  in  parables;  that  granulated  salt  which  is  so 
popular  with  the  English  peasantry.     And  though  his  wit  ran 
riot  in  his  letters  and  his  talk,  when  solemnised  by  the  sight 
of  the  great  congregation  and  the  recollection  of  their  exigen- 
cies, it  disappeared.     It  might  still  be  the  polished  point  on 
the  sharp  arrows :  but  it  was  then  too  swift  and  subtile  to  be 
seen.     The  pith  of  piety— what  keeps  it  living  and  makes  it 
strong— is  love  to  the  Saviour.     In  this  he  always  abounded. 
"My  poor  feeble  heart  droops  when  I  think,  write,  or  talk  of 
*  Born  1716.    Died  1793. 
V^OL.  IV,  X 


242  THE  GREAT  EEVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

anything  but  Jesus.  Oh  that  I  could  get  near  Him,  and  live 
believingly  on  Him !  I  would  walk,  and  talk,  and  sit,  and  eat, 
and  rest  with  Him.  I  would  have  my  heart  always  doating 
on  Him,  and  find  itself  ever  present  with  Him."  And  it  was 
this  absorbing  affection  which  in  preaching  enhanced  all  his 
powers,  and  subdued  all  his  hazardous  proj^ensities.  When 
eight  or  ten  thousand  people  w^ere  gathered  on  a  sloping  field, 
he  would  mount  the  pulpit  after  Venn  or  Grimshaw  had  vacated 
it.  A  twinkle  of  friendly  recognition  darted  from  some  eyes, 
and  a  smile  of  comic  welcome  was  exchanged  by  others.  Per- 
haps a  merry  thought  was  suspected  in  the  corner  of  his  lips, 
or  seen  salient  on  the  very  point  of  liis  peaked  and  curious 
nose.  And  he  gave  it  wing.  The  light-hearted  laughed,  and 
those  who  knew  no  better  hoped  for  fun.  A  devout  stranger 
might  have  trembled  and  feared  that  it  w^as  going  off  in  a  pious 
farce.  But  no  fear  of  Father  Berridge.  He  knows  where  he 
is,  and  how  he  means  to  end.  That  pleasantry  was  intended 
for  a  nail,  and  see,  in  the  hand  of  this  master  of  assemblies, 
it  has  fixed  and  riveted  every  ear.  And  now  he  proceeds 
in  homely  colloquy,  till  the  bluntest  boor  is  delighted  at 
his  own  capacity,  and  is  prepared  to  agree  with  what  he  says 
who  makes  so  little  parade  and  mystery.  But  was  not  that 
rather  a  home-thrust  1  "Yes,  but  it  is  fact:  and  sure  enough 
the  man  is  frank  and  honest;"  and  so  the  blow  is  borne  with 
the  best  smile  that  can  be  twisted  out  of  agony.  "  Nay,  nay, 
he  is  getting  personal,  and  without  some  purpose  the  bolts 
would  not  fiy  so  true."  And  just  when  the  hearer's  suspicion 
is  rising,  and  he  is  about  to  retreat  into  his  fastness,  an  arrow, 
barbed  and  burning,  has  transfixed  his  soul,  and  his  conscience 
is  all  on  fire.  And  from  the  quiver  gleaming  to  the  cord  these 
shafts  of  living  Scripture  fly  so  fast  that  in  a  few  minutes  it  is 
all  a  field  of  slain.  Such  were  the  powerful  impact  and  pierc- 
ing sharpness  of  this  great  preacher's  sentences — so  suited  to 
England's  rustic  auditories,  and  so  divinely  directed  in  their 


"  THE  CHRISTIAN  AVOELD  UNMASKED."  243 

flight,  that  eloquence  has  seldom  won  such  triumphs  as  the 
gospel  won  with  the  bow  of  old  eccentric  Benidge.  Strong- 
men in  the  surprise  of  sudden  self-discovery,  or  in  the  joy  of 
marvellous  deliverance,  would  sink  to  the  earth  powerless  or 
convidsed;  and  in  one  year  of  "campaigning,"  it  is  calculated 
that  four  thousand  were  awakened  to  the  worth  of  their  souls 
and  a  sense  of  sin.  He  published  a  book,  "  The  Christian 
World  Unmasked,"  in  which  something  of  his  close  dealing 
and  a  good  deal  of  his  drollery  survive.  The  idea  of  it  is,  a 
spiritual  physician  prescribing  for  a  sinner  ignorant  of  his  own 
malady.  "  Gentle  reader,  lend  me  a  chair,  and  I  will  sit  doAvn 
and  talk  a  little  with  you.  Give  me  leave  to  feel  your  pulse. 
Sick,  indeed,  sir,  very  sick  of  a  mortal  disease,  which  infects 
your  whole  mass  of  blood."  After  a  good  deal  of  altercation, 
the  patient  consents  to  go  into  the  matter,  and  submits  to  a 
survey  of  his  life  and  character. 

"  Let  me  step  into  your  closet,  sir,  and  peep  upon  its  furni- 
ture. My  hands  are  pretty  honest,  you  may  trust  me;  and 
nothing  will  be  found,  I  fear,  to  tempt  a  man  to  be  a  thief 
Well,  to  be  sure,  what  a  filthy  place  is  here !  Never  swept  for 
certain,  since  you  were  christened !  And  what  a  fat  idol  stands 
skulking  in  the  comer !  A  darling  sin,  I  warrant  it !  How  it 
simpers,  and  seems  as  pleasant  as  a  right  eye !  Can  you  find 
a  ^vill  to  part  with  it,  or  strength  to  pluck  it  out  ?  And  sup- 
posing you  a  match  for  this  self-denial,  can  you  so  command 
your  heart,  as  to  hate  the  sin  you  do  forsake  ?  This  is  cer- 
tainly required :  truth  is  called  for  in  the  inward  parts :  God 
will  have  sin  not  only  cast  aside,  but  cast  aside  with  abhor- 
rence. So  he  speaks.  Ye  that  love  the  Lord,  see  that  you  hate 
cvH." 

Llany  readers  might  think  our  physician  not  only  racy  but 
rough.  They  must  remember  that  his  practice  lay  among  far- 
mers, and  graziers,  and  ploughmen;  and  if  they  dislike  liis 
bluntncss,  they  must  remember  his  success. 


214  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

Of  tlie  venerable  Thomas  Adams  '"''  little  is  recorded,  except 
that  he  commenced  his  religious  life  a  disciple  of  William  Law, 
and  was  translated  into  the  marvellous  light  of  the  gospel  by 
reading  the  first  six  chapters  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans  in 
Greek.  He  was  exceedingly  revered  by  his  like-minded  con- 
temporaries; and  some  idea  of  his  preaching  may  be  formed 
from  his  printed  discourses.  They  are  essentially  sermons  on 
the  heart,  and  are  remarkable  for  their  aphoristic  force  and 
faithful  pungency.  But  his  most  interesting  memorial  is  a 
posthumous  volume  of  "Private  Thoughts  on  Eeligion." 
These  "Thoughts"  are  detached  but  classified  sentences  on 
"God"  and  "Christ,"  on  " Human  Depravity,"  "Faith," 
"  Good  Works,"  "  The  Christian  Life,"  and  kindred  subjects, 
and  though  neither  so  brilliant  nor  so  broad  as  the  "  Thoughts 
of  Pascal,"  they  are  more  experimental  and  no  less  made  for 
memory.  "  The  Spirit's  coming  into  the  heart  is  the  touch  of 
Ithuriel's  spear,  and  it  starts  up  a  devil."  "  Christ  is  God, 
stooping  to  the  senses,  and  spealdng  to  the  heart  of  man." 
"Christ  comes  with  a  blessing  in  each  hand;  forgiveness  in 
one,  and  holiness  in  the  other,  and  never  gives  either  to  any 
who  will  not  take  both."  "  Mankind  are  perpetually  at  vari- 
ance by  being  all  of  one  sect,  viz.,  selfists."  "  A  poor  country 
parson  fighting  against  the  devil  in  his  parish,  has  nobler  ideas 
than  Alexander  had,"  "  Not  to  sin  may  be  a  bitter  cross. 
To  sin  is  hell."  "  '  Wilt  thou  be  made  whole  ? '  is  a  trying- 
question,  when  it  comes  to  be  well  considered."  Those  who 
love  laconic  wisdom  will  find  abundant  specimens  in  this  pithy 
manual.  But  it  is  not  all  pemican.  Besides  the  essence  of 
food  it  contains  extracts  from  bitter  herbs;  and  some  who 
might  relish  its  portable  dainties  will  not  like  its  wholesome 
austerity. 

In  some  respects  the  most  apostolic  of  this  band  was  Wil- 
*  Born  1701.    Died  1784. 


GRIMSHAW.  245 

LiAM  Grimshaav.*  Like  many  in  his  day,  he  struggled 
through  years  of  doubt  and  perplexity  into  that  region  of  light 
and  assurance  where  he  spent  the  sequel  of  his  fervent  minis- 
try. His  parish,  and  the  radiating  centre  of  his  ceaseless 
itinerances,  was  Haworth,  near  Bradford,  in  Yorkshire — a  bleak 
region,  with  a  people  as  wild  and  almost  as  ignorant  as  the 
gorse  on  their  hungry  hills,  f  From  the  time  that  the  love  of 
Christ  took  possession  of  his  soul,  Mr  Grimshaw  gave  to  His 
service  all  the  energies  of  his  ardent  mind  and  powerfid  frame. 
His  health  was  firm,  his  spirit  resolute,  his  understanding 
-vdgorous  and  practical,  and  having  but  one  object,  he  continu- 
ally pursued  it,  alike  a  stranger  to  fatigue  and  fear.  With  a 
slice  of  bread  and  an  onion  for  liis  day's  provision,  he  would 
trudge  over  the  moors  from  dawn  to  summer-dusk  in  search 
of  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  and  after  a  night's  rest  in  a  hay- 
loft would  resume  the  work.  In  one  of  his  weekly  circuits 
he  would  think  it  no  hardship  to  preach  from  twenty  to  thirty 
times.  When  he  overtook  a  stranger  on  the  solitary  road,  if 
riding,  he  would  dismount  and  talk  to  him,  and  rivet  his  kind 
and  pathetic  exhortation  with  a  word  of  prayer;  and  into 
whatsoever  company  thrown,  with  all  the  simplicity  of  a  single 
eye  and  the  mild  intrepidity  of  a  good  intention,  he  addressed 
himself  to  his  Master's  business.  It  was  he  who  silenced  the 
infidel  nobleman  with  the  frank  rejoinder,  "  the  fault  is  not  so 
much  in  your  Lordship's  head  as  in  your  heart;"  and  many  of 
his  emphatic  words  haunted  people's  cars  till  they  sought 
relief  by  coming  to  himself  and  confessing  all  their  case. 
When  his  career  began,  so  sottish  were  his  people,  that  it  was 
hardly  possible  to  draw  them  out  to  worship,  but  Mr  Grim- 
shaw's  boldness  and  decision  dragged  them  in.  Whilst  the 
psalm  before  sermon  was  smging,  he  would  sally  forth  into 

♦  Born  1708.     Died  1763, 

+  Many  of  our  readers  -will  recall  the  vivid  description  of  tliis  region  in 
Mrs  Gaskell's  "Life  of  Charlotte  Bronte." 

x2 


216  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

the  street  and  the  ale-houses  to  look  out  for  loiterers,  and 
would  chase  them  into  the  church;  and  one  Sabbath  morning 
a  stranger  riding  through  Haworth,  and  seeing  some  men 
bolting  out  at  the  back-windows  and  scrambling  over  the 
garden-wall  of  a  tavern,  imagined  that  the  house  was  on  fire, 
till  the  cry,  "  The  Parson  is  coming,"  explained  the  panic. 
By  dint  of  pains  and  courage,  he  conquered  this  heathenish 
parish ;  and  such  was  the  power  which  attended  his  preaching, 
that,  in  later  life,  instead  of  hunting  through  the  streets  for  his 
hearers,  when  he  opened  his  church  for  a  short  service  at  five 
in  the  summer  mornings,  it  would  be  filled  with  shopmen  and 
working  people  ready  to  commence  their  daily  toil.  And  so 
strong  was  the  attraction  to  his  earnest  sermons,  that  besides 
constant  hearers  who  came  from  ten  or  twelve  miles  all  around, 
the  parsonage  w^as  often  filled  with  Christian  worthies  who 
came  on  Saturday  nights  from  distant  towns.  And  when  they 
crowded  him  out  of  his  house  into  his  barn,  and  out  of  the 
church  into  the  church-yard,  he  was  all  in  his  glory,  and  got 
up  on  Monday  morning  early  to  brush  the  shoes  of  the  far- 
come  travellers.  He  was  a  gallant  evangelist  of  the  Baptist's 
school.  Like  the  son  of  the  desert,  he  was  a  man  of  a 
hardy  build,  and  like  him  of  an  humble  spirit,  and  lilvc 
John,  his  joy  was  fulfilled  when  his  Master  increased.  At 
last,  in  the  midst  of  his  brave  and  abundant  exploits,  a 
putrid  fever,  which,  like  Howard,  he  caught  when  engaged 
in  a  labour  of  love,  came  to  summon  him  home.  And  when 
he  was  dead  his  parishioners  came,  and — fit  funeral  for  a 
Christian  hero — bore  him  away  to  the  tomb  amidst  the  voice 
of  psalms. 

But  perhaps  among  all  these  holy  men,  the  completest  and 
most  gracious  character  was   Henry  Venn*  of  Huddersfield. 
Certamly  we  have  learned  to  contemplate  him  with  that  patri- 
*  Born  1724.     Died  1797. 


HENRY  VENN.  247 

archal  halo  wliicli  surrounded  and  sanctified  his  peaceful  old 
age — and  we  have  listened  to  him  only  in  his  affectionate  and 
fatherly  correspondence  ;  but,  so  far  as  we  can  gather,  his  piety 
was  of  that  winsome  type,  which,  if  it  be  not  easy  to  record,  it 
were  blessed  to  resemble.  Simeon  of  Cambridge  loved  him 
dearly,  and  tried  to  write  his  life  ;  but  in  the  attempt  to  put  it 
uiDon  paper  it  all  appeared  to  vanish.  This  fact  is  a  good  bio- 
graphy. No  man  can  paint  the  summer.  Venn's  was  a  genial 
piety,  full  of  fragrant  warmth  and  ripening  wisdom,  but  it  was 
free  from  singularity.  And  his  preaching  was  just  this  piety 
in  the  pulpit — thoughtful,  benignant,  and  simple,  the  love  of 
God  that  was  shed  abroad  in  his  heart  often  appearing  to  shine 
from  his  person.  But  there  were  no  dazzling  passages,  no  start- 
ling nor  amusing  sallies.  A  rugged  mountain,  a  copsy  glen,  a 
riven  cedar,  will  make  a  landscape,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  make 
a  picture  of  a  field  of  wheat.  Mr  Venn  had  a  rich  and  spon- 
taneous mind,  and  from  its  affluent  soil  the  crop  came  easily 
away,  and  ripened  uniformly,  and  except  that  it  yielded  the 
bread  of  thousands,  there  is  little  more  to  tell.  The  popularity 
and  power  of  his  ministry  are  still  among  the  traditions  of  the 
West  Riding — how  the  Socinian  Club  sent  its  cleverest  mem- 
ber to  caricature  the  i3reacher,  but  amidst  the  reverential 
throng,  and  under  the  solemn  sermon,  awed  into  the  feeling, 
"  Surely  God  is  in  this  place,"  he  remained  to  confess  his  error 
and  to  recant  liis  creed — how  the  "  droves"  of  people  came 
from  the  adjacent  villages,  and  how  neighbours  would  go  home 
for  miles  together  so  subdued  that  they  could  not  speak  a  word. 
He  published  one  book,  "  The  Complete  Duty  of  Man."  It  is 
excellent ;  but  like  Wilberforce's  "  View,"  and  other  treatises 
of  that  period,  it  has  fulfilled  its  function — the  world  needs 
something  fresh,  somethuig  older  or  something  newer,  some- 
thing which  our  immediate  predecessors  have  not  common- 
placed. Still,  it  is  an  excellent  treatise,  a  clear  and  engaging 
summary  of  practical  divinity,  and  it  did  much  good  when  new. 


248  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

Some  instances  came  to  Venn's  own  knowledge.  Soon  after 
its  publication  lie  was  sitting  at  the  \\indow  of  an  inn  in  the 
west  of  England.  A  man  was  driving  some  refractory  pigs, 
and  one  of  the  waiters  helped  him,  whilst  the  rest  looked  on 
and  shouted  with  laughter.  Mr  Venn,  pleased  with  this  bene- 
volent trait,  promised  to  send  him  a  book,  and  sent  him  his 
own.  Many  years  after,  a  gentleman  staying  at  an  inn  in  the 
same  part  of  England,  on  Saturday  night  asked  one  of  the  ser- 
vants if  they  ever  went  to  a  place  of  worship  on  Sunday.  He 
was  surprised  to  find  that  they  were  all  required  to  go  at  least 
once  a-daj^,  and  that  the  master  of  the  house  not  only  never  failed 
to  attend,  but  maintained  constant  family  prayer.  It  turned  out 
that  he  was  the  waiter  who  had  helped  the  pig-driver — that  he 
had  married  his  former  master's  daughter,  and  that  he,  his  wife, 
and  some  of  their  children,  owed  all  their  happiness  to  the 
"  Complete  Duty  of  Man."  The  gentleman  told  the  landlord 
that  he  knew  Mr  Venn,  and  soon  intended  to  \dsit  him,  and 
in  the  joy  of  his  heart  the  host  charged  him  with  a  letter  de- 
tailing all  liis  happy  history.  Once  at  Helvoetsluys,  when 
waiting  for  a  fair  mnd  to  carry  him  to  England,  he  accosted 
on  the  shore  a  gentleman  whom  he  took  for  an  Englishman 
he  was  a  Swede,  but  having  lived  long  in  England,  knew  the 
langTiage  well.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  pious  man,  and  asked 
Mr  Venn  to  sup  with  him.  After  much  interesting  conversa- 
tion he  opened  his  portmanteau,  and  brought  out  the  book  tc 
which  he  said  that  he  owed  all  his  religious  impressions.  Mr 
Venn  recognised  his  own  book,  anel  it  neeeled  all  his  humilit}; 
not  to  betray  the  author. 

William  Romaine*  began  his  course  as  Gresham  Professoi 

of  Astronomy,  anel  eelitor  of  the  four  folios  of  Calasio's  Hebrew 

Concorelance.     But  after  he  caught  the  evangelic  fire  he  burned 

and  shone  for  nearly  fifty  years — so  far  as  the  Establishment  is 

*  Born  1714.     Died  1795. 


ROMAINE.  2  id 

concerned — tlio  liglit  of  London,  It  needed  all  his  strength  of 
character  to  hold  his  ground  and  conquer  opposition.  He  was 
appointed  Assistant  iMorning  Lecturer  at  St  George's,  Hanover 
Square ;  but  his  fervent  preaching  brought  a  mob  of  people  to 
that  fashionable  place  of  worship,  and  on  the  charge  of  having 
vulgarised  the  congregation  and  overcrowded  the  church,  the 
rector  removed  him.  He  was  popularly  elected  to  the  Evening 
Lectureship  of  St  Dunstan's  ;  but  the  rector  there  took  posses- 
sion of  the  pulpit  in  the  time  of  prayer,  so  as  to  exclude  the 
fanatic.  Lord  Mansfield  decided  that  after  seven  in  the  evening 
Mr  Ptomaine  was  entitled  to  the  use  of  the  church  ;  so,  till  the 
clock  struck  seven,  the  church-wardens  kept  the  doors  firm  shut, 
and  by  drenching  them  in  rain  and  freezing  them  in  frost,  hoped 
to  weary  out  the  crowd.  Failing  in  this,  they  refused  to  light 
the  church,  and  Mr  Romaine  often  preached  to  his  vast  audi- 
tory, with  no  light  except  the  solitary  candle  which  he  held  in 
his  hand.  But,  "like  another  Codes,  he  was  resolved  to  keep 
the  pass,  and  if  the  bridge  fell  to  leap  into  the  Tiber."  Though 
for  years  his  stipend  was  only  .£18,  he  wore  home-spun  cloth, 
and  lived  so  plainly,  that  they  could  not  starve  him  out.  And 
though  they  repeatedly  dragged  him  to  the  courts  of  law,  they 
could  not  force  him  out.  And  though  they  sought  occasion 
against  him  in  regard  to  the  canons,  they  could  not  get  the 
bishop  to  turn  him  out.  He  held  his  post  till,  with  much  ado, 
lie  gained  the  pulpit  of  Blackfriars,  and  preached  with  un- 
quenched  fire  till  past  four-score,  the  Life,  the  AValk,  the 
Triumph  of  Faith.  For  a  great  while  he  was  one  of  the  sights 
of  London,  and  people  who  came  from  Ireland  and  elsewhere 
to  see  Garrick  act,  went  to  hear  Romaine  discourse ;  and  many 
blessed  the  day  which  first  drew  their  thoughtless  steps  to  St 
Dunstan's  or  St  Ann's.  And  in  his  more  tranquil  evening 
there  was  a  cluster  of  pious  citizens  about  Ludgate  Hill  and 
St  Paul's  Churchyard  who  exceedingly  revered  the  abrupt  old 
man.     Of  all  the  churches  in  the  capital,  as  in  the  days  of 


250  THE  GREA.T  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

Gouge,  a  liuiidred  years  before,*  his  was  the  one  towards  which 
most  home-feeling  flowed.  It  shed  a  Sabbatic  air  through  its 
environs,  and  the  dingy  Lines  around  it  seemed  to  brighten  in 
its  religion  of  life  and  hojDe.  Full  of  sober  hearers  and  joyful 
worshippers,  it  was  a  source  of  substantial  service  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood in  times  of  need;  and  whilst  the  warm  focus  to 
which  provincial  piety  and  travelled  worth  most  readily  re- 
paired, it  was  the  spot  endeared  to  many  a  thankful  memory 
as  the  Peniel  where  first  they  beheld  that  great  sight,  Christ 

CRUCIFIED. 

Beside  the  London  Mansion  House  there  is  a  church  with 
two  truncated  square  towers — to  all  appearance  the  stumps 
of  amputated  steeples — suggesting  St  Mary  Woolnoth,  and 
St  Mary  Wool-Church-Haw.  Could  the  reader  have  ^dsited 
it  sixty  odd  years  ago,  he  would  have  seen  in  the  heavy 
pulpit  a  somewhat  heavy  old  man.  With  little  warmth  he 
muttered  through  a  pious  sermon — texts  and  trite  remarks 
— till  now  and  then  some  bright  fancy  or  earnest  feelmg 
made  a  momentary  animation  overrun  his  seamy  counte- 
nance, and  rush  out  at  his  kind  and  beaming  eyes.  From 
Lombard  Street  bankers  and  powdered  merchants  lolling  se- 
renely at  the  end  of  various  pews,  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
not  deemed  a  Methodist.  From  the  gaunt  north-country 
visage  which  peered  at  him  through  catechetic  spectacles,  and 
waited  for  something  wonderful  which  would  not  come,  it  was 
likely  that  he  was  a  Calvinist,  and  that  his  fame  had  crossed 
the  Tweed.  And  from  the  fond  up-looking  affection  with 
which  many  of  his  hearers  eyed  him,  you  would  have  inferred 
that  himself  must  be  more  interesting  than  his  sermon.  Go 
next  Friday  evening  to  No.  8,  Coleman  Street  Buildings,  and 
there,  in  a  dusky  parlour,  with  some  twenty  people  at  tea,  will 
you  meet  again  the  preacher.  He  has  dofled  the  cassock,  and 
*  See  "  Christiftn  Classics,"  vol.  i.,  p.  331. 


'tis  sixty  years  ago.  251 

in  ca  sailor's  blue  jacket,  on  a  tliree-leggecl  stool,  sits,  like  the 
successor  of  St  Peter,  in  solitary  state,  at  a  little  table  of  his 
own.  The  tea  is  done,  and  the  pipe  is  smoked,  and  the  "  tea- 
things"  give  place  to  the  Bible.  The  host  inquires  if  any  one 
has  got  a  question  to  ask ;  for  these  re-unions  are  meetings  for 
edification  as  well  as  for  friendship.  And  two  or  three  have 
come  with  their  questions  cut  and  dry.  A  retired  old  lady 
asks,  "  How  far  a  Christian  may  lawfully  conform  to  the 
world?"  And  the  old  sailor  says  many  good  things  to  guide 
her  scrupulous  conscience,  although  it  may  be  rather  surmised 
that  the  question  was  asked  for  the  sake  of  the  young  gentle- 
man with  the  velvet  coat  andfrilled  wrist-bands  next  the  door. 
"  When  a  Christian  goes  into  the  world  because  he  sees  it  is 
his  call,  yet  while  he  feels  it  also  his  cross,  it  will  not  hurt 
him."  Then  guiding  his  discourse  towards  some  of  his  city 
friends — "  A  Christian  in  the  world  is  like  a  man  transacting 
business  in  the  rain ;  he  will  not  suddenly  leave  his  client  be- 
cause it  rains ;  but  the  moment  the  business  is  done  he  is 
gone ;  as  it  is  said  in  the  Acts,  '  Being  let  go,  they  went  to 
their  own  company.'  "  This  brings  up  Hannah  More  and  her 
book  on  the  "Manners  of  the  Great;"  and  the  minister  ex- 
presses his  high  opinion  of  Miss  More.  Some  of  the  party  do 
not  know  who  she  is,  and  he  tells  them  that  she  is  a  gifted 
lady,  who  used  to  be  the  intimate  friend  of  Johnson,  Horace 
Walpole,  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  the  idol  of  the  West-end 
grandees,  and  the  writer  of  plays  for  Drury  Lane,  but  who  has 
lately  come  out  with  some  faithful  appeals  to  her  aristocratic 
acquaintances  on  the  subject  of  heart-religion,  and  which  are 
making  a  great  sensation.  "  Aweel,"  says  an  elder  from  Swal- 
low Street,  "  Miss  Moore  is  very  tawlented,  and  I  hope  has 
got  the  root  of  the  matter ;  but  I  misdoubt  if  there  be  not  a 
laygal  twang  in  her  still."  And  the  minister  smiles  quaintly, 
and  in  partial  assent  to  the  criticism,  but  repeats  his  admira- 
tion   and  his  hope    for   the   accomplished  authoress.      And 


252  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

then  he  opens  his  Bible,  clnd  after  singing  one  of  the  Ohiey 
hyinns,  reads  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts,  ''You 
sec  that  Apollos  met  with  two  candid  people  in  the  Church ; 
they  neither  ran  away  because  he  was  le^cd,  nor  were  carried 
away  because  he  was  eloquent."  And  after  a  short  but  fervent 
prayer,  catholic,  comprehensive,  and  experimental,  and  turning 
into  devotion  the  substance  of  their  colloquy,  it  is  as  late  as 
nine  o'clock,  and  the  little  joarty  begins  to  separate.  Some 
are  evidently  constant  visitors.  The  taciturn  gentleman  who 
never  spoke  a  Avord,  but  who,  at  every  significant  sentence, 
smacked  his  lips,  as  if  he  were  clasping  a  casket  over  a  gem, 
and  meant  to  keep  it,  occupied  a  prescriptive  chair,  and  so  did 
the  invalid  lady  who  has  ordered  her  sedan  to  Bedford  Row. 
In  leave-taking,  the  host  has  a  kind  word  for  every  one,  and, 
recognising  a  north  country  pilgrim,  he  says,  "  I  was  a  wild 
beast  on  the  coast  of  Africa;  but  the  Lord  caught  me  and 
tamed  me,  and  now  you  come  to  see  me  as  people  go  to  look 
at  the  lions  in  the  Tower."  Never  was  lion  so  entirely 
tamed  as  John  Newton.*  Commencing  life  as  a  desperado 
and  dread-nought,  and  scaring  his  companions  by  his  peerless 
profanity  and  heaven-daring  wickedness,  and  then  by  his  re- 
markable recovery  signalising  the  riches  of  God's  grace,  you 
might  have  expected  a  Boanerges  to  come  out  of  the  converted 
buccaneer.  But  never  was  transformation  more  complete.  Ex- 
cept the  blue  jacket  at  the  fireside,  and  a  few  sea-faring  habits 
— except  the  lion's  hide,  nothing  survived  of  the  African  lion. 
The  Puritans  w^ould  have  said  that  the  lion  was  slain,  and  that 
honey  was  found  in  its  carcass.  Affable,  and  easy  of  access, 
his  house  was  the  resort  of  those  who  sought  a  skilful  spiritual 
counsellor,  and  knowing  it  to  be  the  form  of  service  for  which 
he  was  best  fitted,  instead  of  fretting  at  the  constant  interrup- 
tion, or  nervously .  absconding  to  some  calm  retreat,  his  con- 
sulting-room, in  London's  most  trodden  thoroughfare,  was 
*  Born  1725.    Died  1807. 


CARDIPHONIA.  253 

always  open.  And  though  he  was  sometimes  disappointed  in 
those  of  whom  his  confiding  nature  hoped  too  soon,  his  hope- 
fuhiess  was  the  very  reason  why  others  turned  out  so  well. 
There  was  a  time  when  Christian  principle  was  a  smoking 
flax  in  Claudius  Buchanan  and  William  Wilberforce  ;  but  on 
Newton's  hearth,  and  under  the  afflatus  of  God's  Spirit,  it 
soon  burst  forth  in  flame.  And  if  his  conversation  eff"ected 
much,  his  correspondence  accomplished  more.  His  narrative 
is  wonderful,  and  his  hymns  are  very  sweet ;  but  his  letters 
make  him  eminent.  Our  theology  supplies  nothing  that  can 
rival  them ;  and  it  is  when  we  recollect  how  many  quires  of 
these  epistles  were  yearly  issuing  from  his  study,  that  we  per- 
ceive what  an  influential  and  useful  man  the  rector  of  St 
Mary's  was.  Many  volumes  are  in  print,  and  we  have  read 
others  in  manuscript.  All  are  fresh  and  various,  and  all  dis- 
tinguished by  the  same  sagacity  and  seriousness,  the  same 
sprightly  wisdom  and  transfusive  warmth.  All  are  rich  in 
experimental  piety,  and  all  radiant  with  goodness  of  heart  and 
genuine  happiness. 

Time  would  fail  to  tell  of  Scott  the  commentator,  of  Andrew 
Fuller,  of  Charles  Simeon,  of  Richard  Cecil,  and  other  preach- 
ers and  authors  who  are  claimed  by  the  present  century,  al- 
though so  much  of  their  work  was  done  among  our  predeces- 
sors. And  of  some  of  them,  as  well  as  of  Cowper,  Hannah 
More,  Wilberforce,  and  other  coadjutors  among  the  laity,  we 
hope  to  give  specimens  as  we  proceed.*  Meanwhile,  we  trust 
that  even  this  hasty  retrospect  may  bring  some  readers  to  a 
better  acquaintance  with  those  men  of  faith  and  fervour  who 
broke  the  death-slumbers  of  a  former  generation,  and  to  whom, 
under  God,  we  are  indebted  for  the  evangelistic  institutions 
and  benevolent  undertakings  by  which  the  present  age  is  dis- 
tinguished. 

*  Our  specimens  of  Venn,  Toplady,  and  Newton,  are  also  postponed  to 
the  subsequent  sections. 

VOL.  IV.  Y 


SPECIMENS. 


GEOEGE  WIIITEFIELD. 


Many  of  Whitefield's  sermons  were  taken  down  by  the 
celebrated  stenographer,  Gurney;  but,  like  the  speeches  of 
Chatham,  Sheridan,  and  other  great  parliamentary  orators,  it 
needs  an  imagination  capable  of  calling  up  the  actual  scene 
and  all  the  circumstances,  in  order  to  account  for  their  won- 
derful effect.  The  following  specimens,  however,  may  give 
some  idea  of  his  warmth,  his  tenderness  of  heart,  and  affection- 
ate importunity. 

CJe  ©fferinff  tip  of  3:saar. 

I  sec  your  hearts  affected,  I  see  your  eyes  weep.  (And, 
indeed,  who  can  refrain  weeping  at  the  relation  of  such  a 
story  ?)  But,  behold,  I  shew  you  a  mystery,  hid  under  the 
sacrifice  of  Abraham's  only  son,  which,  unless  your  hearts  are 
hardened,  must  cause  you  to  weep  tears  of  love,  and  that 
plentifully  too.  I  would  willingly  hope  you  even  preveiit  me 
here,  and  are  ready  to  say,  "  It  is  the  love  of  God,  in  giving 
Jesus  Christ  to  die  for  our  sins."  Yes;  that  is  it.  And  yet 
perhaps  you  find  your  hearts,  at  the  mentioning  of  this,  not  so 
much  affected.  I^et  this  convince  you,  that  we  are  all  fallen 
creatures,  and  that  we  do  not  love  God  or  C*hrist  as  we  ought 
to  do :  for,  if  you  admire  Abraham  offering  up  his  Isaac,  how 
much  more  ought  you  to  extol,  magnify,  and  adore  the  love  of 
God,  who  so  loved  the  world  as  to  give  his  only  begotten  Son 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord,  "that  whosoever  believeth  on  Him 
should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life"?     May  we  not 


OFFERING  OF  ISAAC.  '255 

well  cry  out,  Now  know  we,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  heist  loved  us, 
since  Thou  hast  not  withheld  Thy  Son,  Thine  only  Son  from  usi 
Abraham  was  God's  creature  (and  Clod  was  Abraham's  friend), 
and  therefore  under  the  highest  obligation  to  surrender  up  his 
Isaac.  But  O  stupendous  love !  whilst  we  were  His  enemies, 
God  sent  forth  His  Son,  made  of  a  woman,  made  under  the 
law,  that  He  might  become  a  curse  for  us.  O  the  freeness,  as 
well  as  the  infinity,  of  the  love  of  God  our  Father !  It  is  un- 
searchable :  I  am  lost  in  contemplating  it ;  it  is  past  finding 
out.  Tliink,  O  believers,  think  of  the  love  of  God,  in  giving 
Jesus  Christ  to  be  a  propitiation  for  our  sins.  And  when  you 
hear  how  Abraham  built  an  altar,  and  laid  the  wood  in  order, 
and  bound  Isaac  his  son,  and  laid  him  on  the  altar  upon  the 
wood;  think  how  your  heavenly  Father  bound  Jesus  Christ 
His  only  Son,  and  offered  Him  up  on  the  altar  of  His  justice,  and 
laid  upon  Him  the  iniquities  of  us  all.  When  you  read  of 
Abraham's  stretching  forth  his  hand  to  slay  his  son,  think,  O 
think,  how  God  actually  suffered  His  Son  to  be  slain,  that  we 
might  live  for  evermore.  Do  you  read  of  Isaac  carrying  the 
wood  upon  his  shoulders,  upon  which  he  was  to  be  offered? 
Let  this  lead  you  to  Mount  Calvary  (this  very  mount  of  Moriali 
where  Isaac  was  offered,  as  some  think)  and  take  a  view  of  the 
antitype  Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  bearing  and  ready  to 
sink  under  the  weight  of  that  cross,  on  which  He  was  to  hang 
for  us.  Do  you  admire  Isaac  so  freely  consenting  to  die, 
though  a  creature,  and  therefore  obliged  to  go  when  God  called : 
O  do  not  forget  to  admire  infinitely  more  the  dear  Lord  Jesus, 
that  promised  seed,  who  willingly  said,  "  Lo,  I  come,"  though 
under  no  obligation  so  to  do,  "  to  do  Thy  will,"  to  obey  and  die 
for  men,  "  0  God ! "  Did  you  weep  just  now,  when  I  bid  you 
fancy  you  saw  the  altar,  and  the  wood  laid  in  order,  and  Isaac 
laid  bound  on  the  altar?  Look  by  faith,  behold  the  blessed 
Jesus,  our  all-glorious  Emmanuel,  not  bound,  but  nailed  on  an 
accursed  tree :  sec  how  He  hangs  crowned  with  thorns,  and 


2o(j  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

had  in  derision  of  all  that  are  round  about  Him :  see  how  the 
thorns  pierce  Him,  and  how  the  blood  in  purple  streams  trickles 
down  His  sacred  temples!  Hark  how  the  God  of  nature 
groans !  See  how  He  bows  His  head,  and  at  length  humanity 
gives  up  the  ghost!  Isaac  is  saved,  but  Jesus,  the  God  of 
Isaac,  dies :  a  ram  is  offered  up  in  Isaac's  room,  but  Jesus  has 
no  substitute;  Jesus  must  bleed,  Jesus  must  die;  God  the 
Father  provided  this  Lamb  for  Himself  from  all  eternity.  He 
must  be  offered  in  time,  or  man  must  be  damned  for  evermore. 
And  now,  where  are  your  tears'?  Shall  I  say,  refrain  your 
voice  from  weeping "?  No ;  rather  let  me  exhort  you  to  look  to 
Him  whom  you  have  pierced,  and  mourn,  as  a  woman  mourneth 
for  her  first-born  :  for  we  have  been  the  betrayers,  we  have  been 
the  murderers  of  this  Lord  of  glory;  and  shall  we  not  bewail 
those  sins  which  brought  the  blessed  Jesus  to  the  accursed 
tree  ?  Having  so  much  done,  so  much  suffered  for  us,  so  much 
forgiven,  shall  we  not  love  much  1  Oh  !  let  us  love  Him  with 
all  our  hearts,  and  minds,  and  strength,  and  glorify  Him  in 
our  souls  and  bodies,  for  they  are  His. 

TOJat  tljinlt  ge  of  €:fjri0t? 

O  my  brethren,  my  heart  is  enlarged  towards  you.  I  trust 
I  feel  something  of  that  hidden,  but  powerful  presence  of 
Christ,  whilst  I  am  preaching  to  you.  Indeed  it  is  sweet,  it 
is  exceedingly  comfortable.  All  the  harm  I  wish  you,  who 
without  cause  are  my  enemies,  is,  that  you  felt  the  like.  Be- 
lieve me,  though  it  would  be  hell  to  my  soul  to  return  to  a 
natural  state  again,  yet  I  would  willingly  change  states  with 
you  for  a  little  while,  that  you  might  know  what  it  is  to  have 
Christ  dwelling  in  your  hearts  by  faith.  Do  not  turn  your 
backs ;  do  not  let  the  devil  hurry  you  away :  be  not  afraid  of 
convictions;  do  not  think  worse  of  the  doctrine,  because 
preached  without  the  church  walls.     Our  Lord,  in  the  days  of 


WHAT  THINK  YE  OF  CHRIST  ?  257 

His  flesh,  preached  on  a  mount,  in  a  ship,  and  a  field;  and  I 
am  persuaded  many  have  felt  His  gracious  presence  here.  In- 
deed we  speak  what  we  know.  Do  not  reject  the  kingdom  of 
God  against  yourselves :  be  so  wise  as  to  receive  our  witness. 
I  cannot,  I  will  not  let  you  go;  stay  a  little,  let  us  reason  to- 
gether. However  lightly  you  may  esteem  your  souls,  I  know 
our  Lord  has  set  an  unsi^eakable  value  on  them.  He  thought 
them  worthy  of  His  most  precious  blood.  I  beseech  you, 
therefore,  O  sinners,  be  ye  reconciled  to  God.  I  hope  you  do 
not  fear  being  accepted  in  the  Beloved.  Behold,  He  calletli 
you;  behold,  He  prevents  and  follows  you  with  His  mercy, 
and  hath  sent  forth  His  servants  into  the  highways  and  hedges, 
to  compel  you  to  come  in.  Remember,  then,  that  at  such  an 
hour  of  such  a  day,  in  such  a  year,  in  this  jolace,  you  were  all 
told  what  you  ought  to  think  concerning  Jesus  Christ.  If  you 
now  perish,  it  will  not  be  for  lack  of  knowledge :  I  am  free 
from  the  blood  of  you  all.  You  cannot  say  I  have  been 
preaching  damnation  to  you ;  you  cannot  say  I  ha^-e,  like  legal 
preachers,  been  requiring  you  to  make  brick  without  straw. 
I  have  not  bidden  you  to  make  yourselves  saints,  and  then 
come  to  God;  but  I  have  offered  you  salvation  on  as  cheap 
terms  as  you  can  desire.  I  have  offered  you  Christ's  whole 
wisdom,  Christ's  whole  righteousness,  Christ's  whole  sanctifica- 
tion  and  eternal  redemption,  if  you  will  but  believe  on  Him. 
If  you  say  you  cannot  believe,  you  say  right;  for  faith,  as  well 
as  every  other  blessing,  is  the  gift  of  God :  but  then  wait  upon 
God,  and  who  knows  bat  He  may  have  mercy  on  thee?  Why 
do  we  not  entertain  more  loving  thoughts  of  Christ  ?  Or  do 
you  think  He  will  have  mercy  on  others,  and  not  on  you? 
But  are  you  not  sinners?  And  did  not  Jesus  Christ  come  into 
the  world  to  save  sinners  ?  If  you  say  you  are  the  chief  of 
sinners,  I  answer,  that  will  be  no  hindrance  to  your  salvation, 
indeed  it  will  not,  if  you  lay  hold  on  Him  by  faith.  Kead  the 
Evangelists,  and  sec  how  kindly  He  behaved  to  His  disciples 

Y  2 


258  THE  GREAT  EEVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

who  fled  from  and  denied  Him :    "  Go  tell  my  brethren,"  says 
He.     He  did  not  say,  Go  tell  those  traitors;  but,  "Go  tell  my 
brethren,  and  Peter:"  as  though  He  had  said.   Go  tell  my 
brethren  in  general,  and  poor  Peter  in  particular,  "  that  I  am 
risen;"  O  comfort  his  poor  drooping  heart,  tell  him  I  am  re- 
conciled to  him;  bid  him  weep  no  more  so  bitterly :  for  though 
with  oaths  and  curses  he  thrice  denied  Me,  yet  I  have  died  for 
his  sins,  I  am  risen  again  for  his  justification :   I  freely  forgive 
him  all.     Thus  slow  to  anger,  and  of  great  kindness,  was  our 
all-merciful  High  Priest.     And  do  you  think  He  has  changed 
His  nature,  and  forgets  poor  sinners,  now  He  is  exalted  to  the 
right-hand  of  God?     No,  He  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day, 
and  for  ever,  and  sitteth  there  only  to  make  intercession  for 
us.     Come  then,  ye  harlots,  come  ye  publicans,  come  ye  most 
abandoned   of   sinners,    come   and  believe    on   Jesus    Christ. 
Though  the  whole  world  despise  you  and  cast  you  out,  yet  He 
will  not  disdain  to  take  you  up.     O  amazing,  O  infinitely  con- 
descending love  !  even  you.  He  will  not  be  ashamed  to  call 
His  brethren.     How  will  you  escape  if  you  neglect  such  a 
glorious  offer  of  salvation  ?     What  would  the  damned  spirits, 
now  in  the  prison  of  hell,  give,  if  Christ  w^ere  so  freely  offered 
to  their  souls  1     And  why  are  not  we  lifting  up  our  eyes  in 
torments  ?     Does  any  one  out  of  this  great  multitude  dare  say, 
he  does  not  deserve  damnation  ?     If  not,  why  are  we  left,  and 
others  taken  away  by  death  1     AYhat  is  this  but  an  instance  of 
God's  free  grace,  and  a  sign  of  His  good  will  towards  us  1   Let 
God's  goodness  lead  us  to  repentance  !     O  let  there  be  joy  in 
heaven  over  some  of  you  repenting  !    Though  we  are  in  a  field, 
I  am  persuaded  the  blessed  angels  are  hovering  now  around  us, 
and  do  long,  "  as  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water-brooks,"  to 
sing  an  anthem  at  your  conversion.     Blessed  be  God,  I  hope 
their  joy  will  be  fulfilled. 

An  awful  silence  appears  amongst  us.     I  have  good  hope 
that  the  words  which  the  Lord  has  enabled  me  to  speak  in 


FLEE  FOR  YOUR  LIYES  !  259 

your  ears  this  day,  have  not  altogether  fallen  to  the  ground. 
Your  tears  and  deep  attention  are  an  evidence  that  the  Lord 
God  is  amongst  us  of  a  truth.     Come,  ye  Pharisees,  come  and 
see,  in  spite  of  your  satanical  rage  and  fury,  the  Lord  Jesus  is 
getting  Himself  the  victory.     And,  brethren,  I  speak  the  truth 
in  Christ,  I  He  not,  if  one  soul  of  you,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
be  brought  to  think  savingly  of  Jesus  Christ  this  day,  I  care 
not  if  my  enemies  were  permitted  to  carry  me  to  prison,  and 
put  my  feet  fast  in  the  stocks,  as  soon  as  I  have  delivered  this 
sermon.     Brethren,  my  heart's  desire  and  prayer  to  God  is, 
that  you  may  be  saved.     For  tliis  cause  I  follow  my  :\L^ster 
without  the  camp.    I  care  not  how  much  of  His  sacred  reproach 
I  bear,  so  that  some  of  you  be  converted  from  the  errors  of  your 
ways.     I  rejoice,  yea,  and  I  will  rejoice.     Ye  men,  ye  devils, 
do  your  worst:   the  Lord  who  sent  will  support  me.     And 
when  Christ,  who  is  our  life,  and  whom  I  have  now  been 
preaching,  shall  appear,  I  also,  together  with  His  despised  little 
ones,  shall  appear  with  Him  in  glory.     And  then,  what  will 
you  think  of  Christ?     I  know  what  you  will  think  of  Him. 
You  will  then  think  Him  to  be  the  fairest  among  ten  thousand  : 
you  will  then  think  and  feel  Him  to  be  a  just  and  sin-avenging 
judge.     Be  ye  then  persuaded  to  kiss  Him  lest  He  be  angry, 
and  so  you  be  banished  for  ever  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord. 
Behold,  I  come  to  you  as  the  angel  did  to  Lot.     Flee,  flee, 
for  your  lives;  haste,  linger  no  longer  in  your  spiritual  Sodom, 
for  otherwise  you  will  be  eternally  destroyed.     Numbers,  no 
doubt,  there  are  amongst  you,  that  may  regard  me  no  more 
than  Lot's  sons-in-law  regarded  him.     I  am  persuaded  I  seem 
to  some  of  you  as  one  that  mocketh :  but  I  speak  the  truth  in 
Christ,  I  lie  not;  as  sure  as  fire  and  brimstone  was  rained  from 
the  Lord  out  of  heaven,  to  destroy  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  so 
surely,   at  the  great  day,  shall  the  vials  of  God's  wrath  be 
poured  on  you,  if  you  do  not  think  seriously  of,  and  act  agree- 
able to  the  gospel  of  the  Lord's  Christ.     Behold,  I  have  told 


260  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL^  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

you  before;  and  I  pray  God,  all  you  that  forget  Him  may 
seriously  think  of  what  has  been  said,  before  He  pluck  you 
away,  and  there  be  none  to  deliver  you. 

Cufje  last  iFavciudl, 

Now  I  must  come  to  the  hardest  part  I  have  to  act.  I  was 
afraid  when  I  came  out  from  home  that  I  could  not  bear  the 
shock,  but  I  hope  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  will  help  me  to  bear  it, 
and  help  you  to  give  mc  up  to  the  blessed  God,  let  Him  do 
with  me  what  He  will.  This  is  the  thirteenth  time  of  my 
crossing  the  mighty  waters.  It  is  a  little  difficult  at  this  time 
of  life ;  and  though  my  spirits  are  improved  in  some  degree, 
yet  weakness  is  the  best  of  my  strength.  But  I  delight  in  the 
cause,  and  God  fills  me  with  a  peace  that  is  unutterable,  which 
nobody  knows,  and  a  stranger  intermeddles  not  with.  Into 
His  hands  I  commend  my  spirit,  and  I  beg  that  this  may  be 
the  language  of  your  hearts,  Lord,  keep  him;  let  nothing 
pluck  him  out  of  Thy  hands. 

I  expect  many  a  trial  while  I  am  on  board.  Satan  always 
meets  me  there;  but  that  God  who  has  kept  me,  I  believe 
vnll  keep  me.  I  thank  God  I  have  the  comfort  of  leaving 
everything  quite  well  and  easy  at  both  ends  of  the  town ;  and, 
my  dear  hearers,  my  prayers  to  God  shall  be,  that  nothing 
may  pluck  you  out  of  Christ's  hands.  Witness  against  me  if 
I  ever  set  up  a  party  for  myself.  Did  ever  any  minister,  or 
could  any  minister  in  the  world  say,  that  I  ever  spake  against 
any  one  going  to  any  dear  minister'?  I  thank  God  that  He 
has  enabled  me  to  be  always  strengthening  the  hands  of  all, 
though  some  have  afterwards  been  ashamed  to  own  me.  I 
declare  to  you  that  I  believe  God  will  be  with  me,  and  will 
strengthen  mc;  and  I  believe  it  is  in  answer  to  your  prayers 
that  God  is  pleased  to  revive  my  spirits :  may  the  Lord  help 
you  to  pray  on.     If  I  am  drowned  in  the  waves  I  will  say, 


FAREWELL.  261 

Lord,  take  care  of  my  London,  take  care  of  my  English 
friends ;  let  nothing  pluck  them  out  of  Thy  hands. 

And  as  Christ  has  given  us  eternal  life,  O  my  brethren, 
some  of  you,  I  doubt  not,  will  be  gone  to  Him  before  my 
return.  But,  my  dear  brethren,  my  dear  hearers,  never  mind 
that;  we  shall  part,  but  it  will  be  to  meet  agam  for  ever.  I 
dare  not  meet  you  now,  I  cannot  bear  your  coming  to  me  to 
part  from  me,  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  and  overcomes  me;  but 
by  and  by  all  parting  will  be  over,  and  all  tears  shall  be  wiped 
away  from  our  eyes.  God  grant  that  none  that  weep  now  at 
my  parting  may  weep  at  our  meeting  at  the  day  of  judgment; 
and  if  you  never  were  among  Christ's  sheep  before,  may  Christ 
Jesus  brmg  you  now.  O  come,  come,  see  what  it  is  to  have 
eternal  life;  do  not  refuse  it;  haste,  sinner,  haste  away;  may 
the  great,  the  good  Shepherd  draw  your  souls.  Oh!  if  you 
never  heard  his  voice  before,  God  grant  you  may  hear  it  now, 
that  I  may  have  this  comfort  when  I  am  gone  that  I  had  last, 
that  some  souls  are  awakened  at  the  parting  sermon.  O  that 
it  may  be  a  farewell  sermon  to  you ;  that  it  may  be  a  means 
of  your  taking  a  farewell  of  the  world,  the  lusts  of  the  flesh, 
the  lusts  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life.  O  come,  come, 
come  to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  to  Him  I  leave  you. 

And  you,  dear  sheep,  that  are  already  in  His  hands,  0  may 
God  keep  you  from  wandering.  God  keep  you  near  Christ's 
feet.  I  do  not  care  what  shepherds  keej)  you,  so  as  you  are 
kept  near  the  great  Shepherd  and  Bishop  of  souls.  The  Lord 
God  keep  you,  lift  up  the  light  of  His  countenance  upon  you, 
and  give  you  peace.     Amen. 

JOHN  WESLEY. 

©tt  t})e  Beat!)  of  m  raijiteficItJ. 

But  how  shall  we  improve  this  awful  providence?  And  the 
answer  to  this  important  question  is  easy :  (may  God  write  it 


2G2  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

ill  all  our  hearts) !     By  keeping  close  to  the  grand  doctrines 
which  he  delivered ;  and  by  drinking  into  his  spirit. 

1.  And  first,  let  us  keep  close  to  the  grand  scriptural  doc- 
trines which  he  everywhere  delivered.  There  are  many  doc- 
trines of  a  less  essential  nature,  with  regard  to  which,  even  the 
sincere  children  of  God  (such  is  the  present  weakness  of  human 
understanding !)  are,  and  have  been  divided  for  many  ages.  In 
these  we  may  think  and  let  think ;  we  may  "  agree  to  disagree." 
But  meantime,  let  us  hold  fast  the  essentials  of  "the  faith, 
which  was  once  delivered  to  the  saints;"  and  which  this  cham- 
pion of  God  so  strongly  insisted  on  at  all  times  and  in  all 
places. 

2.  His  fundamental  point  was  to  give  God  all  the  glory  of 
whatever  is  good  in  man,  and,  in  the  business  of  salvation, 
set  Christ  as  high,  and  man  as  low  as  possible.  With  this 
point  he,  and  his  friends  at  Oxford,  the  original  ISIethodists,  so 
called,  set  out.  Their  grand  principle  was,  there  is  no  power 
by  nature,  and  no  merit  in  man.  They  insisted,  all  power  to 
think,  speak,  or  act  right,  is  in  and  from  the  Spirit  of  Christ : 
and  all  merit  is  (not  in  man,  how  high  soever  in  grace,  but 
merely)  in  the  blood  of  Christ.  So  he  and  they  taught :  There 
is  no  power  in  man,  till  it  is  given  him  from  above,  to  do  one 
good  work,  to  speak  one  good  word,  or  to  form  one  good  de- 
sire. For  it  is  not  enough  to  say,  all  men  are  sick  of  sin :  No, 
we  are  all  "  dead  in  tresspasses  and  sins."  It  follows,  that  all 
the  children  of  men  are  by  nature  children  of  wrath.  We  are 
all  guilty  before  God,  liable  to  death,  temporal  and  eternal. 

3.  And  Ave  are  all  helpless,  both  with  regard  to  the  power 
and  to  the  guilt  of  sin.  For  "  who  can  bring  a  clean  thing 
out  of  an  unclean?"  None  less  than  the  Almighty.  Who 
can  raise  those  that  are  dead,  spiritually  dead  in  shi  1  None 
but  He  Avho  raised  us  from  the  dust  of  the  earth.  But  on 
what  consideration  will  He  do  this?  "Not  for  works  of 
riditeousness  that  avc  have  done.     The  dead  cannot  praise 


whitefield's  doctrine.  2(}S 

Tliec,  0  Lord  !" — nor  do  nny  thing  for  the  sake  of  which  they 
should  be  raised  to  life.  Whatever,  therefore,  God  docs,  He 
does  it  merely  for  the  sake  of  His  well-beloved  Son  :  "  He  was 
wounded  for  our  transgTcssions,  he  was  bruised  for  our  iniqui- 
ties. He  himself  bore  all  our  sins  in  His  o^vn  body  upon  the 
tree.  He  was  delivered  for  our  offences,  and  rose  again  for  our 
justification."  Here  then  is  the  sole  meritorious  cause  of  every 
blessing  we  do  or  can  enjoy.  In  particular,  of  our  pardon  and 
acceptance  with  God,  of  our  full  and  free  justification.  But 
by  what  mean  do  we  become  interested  in  what  Christ  has 
done  and  suffered  ?  "  Not  by  works,  lest  any  man  should 
boast ;"  but  by  faith  alone.  "  We  conclude,"  says  the  apostle, 
"  that  a  man  is  justified  by  faith,  mthout  the  works  of  the 
law."  And  "  to  as  many  as  thus  receive  him,  giveth  he  power 
to  become  the  sons  of  God  :  Even  to  those  that  believe  in  his 
name,  who  are  born,  not  of  the  will  of  man,  but  of  God." 

4.  And  "  except  a  man  be"  thus  "  born  again,  he  cannot  see 
the  kingdom  of  God."  But  all  who  are  thus  "  born  of  the 
Spirit,"  have  "  the  kingdom  of  God  within  them."  Christ  sets 
up  His  kingdom  in  their  heart;  "Righteousness,  peace,  and 
joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost."  That  "mind  is  in  them,  which  was 
in  Christ  Jesus,"  enabling  them  "to  walk  as  Christ  also  walked." 
His  indwelling  Spirit  makes  them  both  holy  in  heart,  and  "holy 
in  all  manner  of  conversation."  But  still,  seeing  all  this  is  a 
free  gift,  through  the  righteousness  and  blood  of  Christ,  there 
is  eternally  the  same  reason  to  rememl)er- — "  He  that  glorieth, 
let  liim  glory  in  the  Lord." 

5.  You  are  not  ignorant  that  these  are  the  fundamental  doc- 
trines which  He  everywhere  insisted  on.  And  may  they  not 
be  summed  up,  as  it  were,  in  two  words  :  "  The  new-birth," 
and  "justification  by  fiiith"  ?  These  let  us  insist  upon  with 
all  boldness,  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places  :  in  public  (those 
of  us  who  are  called  thereto),  and,  at  all  opportunities,  in  pri- 
vate.    Keep  close  to  these  good,  old,  unfiishionable  doctrines, 


264  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL^  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

liow  many  soever  contradict  and  blaspheme.  Go  on,  my 
brethren,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  and  in  the  power  of  His 
might.  With  all  care  and  diligence,  "  Keep  that  safe  which 
is  committed  to  your  trust:"  knowing  that  "Heaven  and 
earth  shall  pass  away ;  but  this  truth  shall  not  pass  away." 

6.  But  will  it  be  sufficient  to  keep  close  to  his  doctrines, 
how  pure  soever  they  are  1  Is  there  not  a  point  of  still  greater 
importance  than  this,  namely,  to  drink  into  his  spirit?  Herein 
to  be  a  follower  of  him,  even  as  he  was  of  Christ?  Without 
this,  the  2^urity  of  our  doctrines  would  only  increase  our  con- 
demnation. This,  therefore,  is  the  principal  thing — to  copy  after 
his  spirit.  And  allowing  that  in  some  points  we  must  be  con- 
tent to  admire  what  we  cannot  imitate,  yet  in  many  others  we 
may,  through  the  same  grace,  be  partakers  of  the  same  bless- 
ing. Conscious,  then,  of  your  own  wants,  and  of  His  bounteous 
love,  who  "  giveth  liberally  and  upbraideth  not,"  cry  to  Hun 
that  worketh  all  in  all,  for  a  measure  of  the  same  precious 
faith :  of  the  same  zeal  and  activity,  the  same  tender-hearted- 
ness, charitableness,  bowels  of  mercies.  Wrestle  with  God  for 
some  degree  of  the  same  grateful,  friendly,  affectionate  temper, 
of  the  same  openness,  simplicity,  and  godly  sincerity — "  Love 
without  dissimulation."  Wrestle  on,  till  the  Power  from  on 
high  works  in  you  the  same  steady  courage  and  patience :  and, 
above  all,  because  it  is  the  crown  of  all,  the  same  invariable 
integrity. 

7.  Is  there  any  other  fruit  of  the  grace  of  God,  with  which 
he  was  eminently  endowed,  and  the  want  of  which,  among  the 
children  of  God,  he  frequently  and  passionately  lamented? 
There  is  one,  that  is,  catholic  love ;  that  sincere  and  tender 
affection,  which  is  due  to  all  those  who,  we  have  reason  to  be- 
lieve, are  the  children  of  God  by  faith  :  in  other  words,  all 
those,  in  every  persuasion,  who  "  fear  God  and  work  righteous- 
ness." He  longed  to  see  all  wlio  had  "  tasted  of  the  good 
word,"  of  a  truly  catholic  spirit  (a  word  little  understood,  and 


whitefield's  spirit.  265 

still  less  experienced,  by  many  wlio  have  it  frequently  in  their 
mouths).  Who  is  he  that  answers  this  character  ?  Who  is  a 
man  of  a  catholic  spirit?  One  who  loves  as  friends,  as 
brethren  in  the  Lord,  as  joint-partakers  of  the  present  king- 
dom of  heaven,  and  fellow-heirs  of  His  eternal  kingdom — all, 
of  whatever  opinion,  mode  of  worship,  or  congregation,  who 
believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus ;  who  love  God  and  man  ;  who,  re- 
joicing to  please  and  fearing  to  offend  God,  are  careful  to 
abstain  from  evil,  and  zealous  of  good  works.  He  is  a  man  of 
a  truly  catholic  spirit,  who  bears  all  these  continually  upon 
his  heart;  who,  having  an  unspeakable  tenderness  for  their 
persons,  and  an  earnest  desire  for  their  welfare,  does  not  cease 
to  commend  them  to  God  in  prayer,  as  well  as  to  plead  their 
cause  before  men ;  who  speaks  comfortably  to  them,  and 
labours,  by  all  his  words,  to  strengthen  their  hands  in  God. 
He  assists  them  to  the  uttermost  of  his  power,  in  all  things, 
spiritual  and  temporal.  He  is  ready  to  spend  and  be  spent  for 
them ;  yea,  to  lay  down  his  life  for  his  brethren. 

8.  How  amiable  a  character  is  this !  How  desirable  to  every 
child  of  God!  But  why  is  it,  then,  so  rarely  found]  How  is 
it  that  there  are  so  few  instances  of  it  ?  Indeed,  supposing  we 
have  tasted  of  the  love  of  God,  how  can  any  of  us  rest  till  it  is 
our  own?  Why,  there  is  a  delicate  device,  whereby  Satan  per- 
suades thousands  that  they  may  stop  short  of  it,  and  yet  be 
guiltless.  It  is  well,  if  many  here  present  are  not  in'  this 
"  snare  of  the  devil,  taken  captive  at  his  will."  "  O  yes,"  says 
one,  "  I  have  all  this  love  for  those  I  believe  to  be  the  children 
of  God.  But  I  will  never  believe  he  is  a  child  of  God,  who 
belongs  to  that  vile  congregation !  Can  he,  do  you  think,  be  a 
child  of  God,  who  holds  such  detestable  opinions  ?  Or  he  that 
joins  in  such  senseless  and  superstitious,  if  not  idolatrous  wor- 
ship?" So  we  justify  ourselves  in  one  sin,  by  adding  a  second 
to  it !  We  excuse  the  want  of  love  in  ourselves,  by  laying  the 
blame  on  others.     To  colour  our  own  devilish  temper,  we  pro- 

VOL.  IV.  z 


266  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

noiincc  our  brethren  cliiklren  of  the  devil.  O  beware  of  this ! 
And  if  you  are  ah^eady  taken  in  the  snare,  escape  out  of  it  as 
soon  as  possible.  Go  and  learn  that  truly  catholic  love,  which 
is  not  rash  or  hasty  in  judging; — that  love  which  thinketh  no 
evil,  which  believeth  and  hopeth  all  things : — which  makes  all 
the  allowance  for  others,  that  we  desire  others  should  make  for 
us.  Then  we  shall  take  knowledge  of  the  grace  of  God  which 
is  in  every  man,  whatever  be  liis  opinion  or  mode  of  worship. 
Then  will  all  that  fear  God  be  near  and  dear  unto  us  in  the 
bowels  of  Jesus  Christ. 

9.  Was  not  this  the  spirit  of  our  dear  friend  1  x^ncl  why 
should  it  not  be  ours  ?  O  thou  God  of  Love,  how  long  shall 
Thy  people  be  a  by-word  among  the  heathen?  How  long 
shall  they  laugh  us  to  scorn,  and  say — "  See  how  these  Chris- 
tians love  one  another"  ?  When  wilt  Thou  roll  away  our 
reproach  ?  "  Shall  the  sword  devour  for  ever  ?  How  long  will  it 
be  ere  Thou  bid  Thy  people  return  from  following  each  other?*' 
Now,  at  least,  "  let  all  the  people  stand  still,  and  pursue  after 
their  brethren  no  more!"  But  whatever  others  do,  let  all  of 
uSj  my  brethren,  hear  the  voice  of  him  that  "  being  dead,  yet 
speaketh!"  Suppose  ye  hear  him  say — "Now  at  least,  'be  ye 
followers  of  me  as  I  was  of  Christ !'  Let  brother  '  no  more  lift 
up  sword'  against  brother,  neither  'know  ye  war  anymore!' 
Rather  *  put  ye  on,  as  the  elect  of  God,  bowels  of  mercies, 
humbleness  of  mind,  brotherly  kindness,  gentleness,  long-suffer- 
ing, forbearing  one  another  in  love.'  Let  the  time  past  suffice 
for  strife,  envy,  contention;  for  'biting  and  devouring  one 
another.'  Blessed  be  God,  that  ye  have  not  long  ago  been 
'consumed  one  of  another!'  From  henceforth  hold  ye  'the 
unity  of  the  Spirit  in  the  bond  of  peace.'" 

10.  O  God,  with  Thee  no  word  is  impossible:  Thou  dost 
whatsoever  pleaseth  Thee!  0  that  Thou  wouldst  cause  the 
mantle  of  Thy  prophet,  whom  Thou  hast  taken  up,  now  to  fall 
upon  us  that  remain!    "Where  is  the  Lord  God  of  Elijah?" 


A  FUNEEAL  HYMN.  267 

Let  his  spirit  rest  upon  these  thy  servants !  Shew  Thou  art  the 
God  that  answcrcst  by  fire !  Let  the  fire  of  Thy  love  fall  on 
every  heart!  And  because  we  love  Thee,  let  us  love  one 
another  mth  a  love  stronger  than  death.  Take  away  from  us 
"all  anger,  and  wrath,  and  bitterness;  all  clamour  and  evil- 
speaking."  Let  Thy  Spirit  so  rest  upon  us,  that  from  this 
hour  we  maybe  "kind  to  each  other,  tender-hearted :  forgiving 
one  another,  even  as  God,  for  Christ's  sake,  hath  forgiven  us!" 


1  Sci'vant  of  God,  well  done! 

Thy  glorious  warfare  's  past, 
The  battle  's  fought,  the  race  is  won, 

And  thou  art  crowu'd  at  la^t ; 

Of  all  thy  heart's  desire 

Triumphantly  posscss'd. 
Lodged  by  the  ministerial  choir 

la  thy  Redeemer's  breast. 

2  In  condescending  love 

Thy  ceaseless  prayer  lie  heard, 
And  bade  thee  suddenly  remove, 
To  thy  complete  reward : 
lieady  to  bring  tlie  peace, 
Thy  beauteous  feet  were  shod, 
When  mercy  sign'd  thy  soul's  release, 
And  caught  thee  up  to  God. 

3  With  saints  enthroned  on  high, 

Thou  dost  thy  Lord  proclaim, 
And  still  to  God  salvation  cry. 

Salvation  to  the  Lamb ! 

0  happy,  happy  soul! 

In  ecstasies  of  praise, 
Long  as  eternal  ages  roll. 

Thou  seest  thy  Saviour's  face. 


268  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

4  Redeein'ci  from  earth  and  pain, 

Ah  !  -sYheii  shall  we  ascciul, 
And  all  in  Jesus'  presence  reign 

"^A'ith  our  translated  Friend  ! 

Come,  Lord,  and  quickly  come ! 

And  when  in  Thee  complete. 
Receive  Thy  longino-  servants  home, 

To  triumph— at  Thy  feet ! 

JAMES  HERVEY. 

Tlteron.  May  I  then  believe,  firmly  believe,  assuredly  be- 
lieve, tliat  Jesus  the  Mediator,  and  all  the  rich  benefits  of  His 
mediation,  are  mine  ?  Pardon  me,  Aspasio,  for  reiterating  the 
question,  I  am  really,  with  respect  to  the  obedience  of  faith, 
too  much  like  that  Saxon  monarch,  who,  for  his  remissness 
and  inactivity,  was  surnamed  The  Unready:^ 

Aspasio.  I  do  more  than  pardon,  my  dear  Tlieron,  I  feel 
for  him,  and  I  s^^mpathise  with  him.  If  there  is  some  of  that 
Saxon  prince's  disease  running  in  his  rehgion,  I  am  sure  there 
is  too  much  of  it  in  mine;  and  I  fear  it  is  an  epidemical 
distemper.  But  let  us  reflect  a  moment.  Supi30se  any  neigh- 
bour of  substance  and  credit  should  bind  himself  by  a  deliber- 
ate promise  to  do  you  some  particular  piece  of  service;  if  he 
should  add  to  his  promise,  a  note  under  his  own  hand;  if 
he  should  corroborate  both  by  some  authentic  pledge;  if  he 
should  estabhsh  all  by  a  most  awful  and  solemn  oath;  could 
you  suspect  the  sincerity  of  liis  engagement,  or  harbour  any 
doubt  with  regard  to  its  execution  1  TMs  would  be  most  un- 
reasonable in  any  one;  and  to  your  generous  temper,  I  am 
veiy  certain,  it  w^ould  be  impossible.  Let  us  remember  that 
God  has  given  us  all  this  cause  for  an  assurance  of  faith  and 
more.  Nay,  I  will  defy  the  most  timorous  and  suspicious 
*  Etbelred. 


THERON  AND  ASPASIO,  269 

temper,  to  demand  from  the  most  treacherous  person  on  earth, 
a  greater,  stronger,  fuller  security,  tlian  the  God  of  infinite 
fidelity  has  granted  to  you  and  me.  After  all  this,  one  would 
think,  diflidence  itself  could  no  longer  hesitate,  nor  the  most 
jealous  incredulity  demur.  Shall  Ave,  can  we  withhold  that 
afiiance  from  the  unchangeable  Creator,  which  we  could  not 
but  repose  on  a  fallible  creature  ? 

Titer.  You  rouse  and  animate  me,  Aspasio.  0  that  I  may 
arise,  and  with  the  Divine  assistance,  shake  oft'  this  stupor  of 
unbelief!  Certainly,  it  cnAi  never  be  honourable  to  God,  nor 
pleasing  to  Christ,  nor  profitable  to  ourselves. 

Asp.  If  it  be,  then  cherish  it;  maintain  it;  and  never  re- 
linquish it.  But  how  can  it  be  honourable  to  God?  It 
depreciates  His  goodness;  it  is  a  reproach  to  His  veracity; 
nay,  the  apostle  scruples  not  to  afiirm,  that  it  makes  Him  a 
liar  (1  John  v.  10).  Whereas,  they  who  believe  His  testi- 
mony, glorify  His  faithfulness;  glorify  His  beneficence;  and  as 
John  the  Baptist  speaks,  "  set  to  their  seal  that  God  is  true  " 
(John  iii.  33).  I  have  been  informed,  that  when  the  late 
Elector  of  Hanover  was  declared  by  the  Parliament  of  Great 
Britain,  successor  to  the  vacant  throne,  several  persons  of  dis- 
tinction waited  upon  his  Highness,  in  order  to  make  timely 
application  for  the  most  valuable  preferments.  Several  re- 
ijuests  of  this  nature  were  granted,  and  each  was  confirmed  by 
a  kind  of  promissory  note.  One  gentleman,  particidarly,  so- 
licited for  the  Mastership  of  the  Eolls.  Being  indulged  in  his 
desire,  he  was  offered  the  same  confirmation  which  had  been 
vouchsafed  to  other  successful  petitioners.  Ui^on  which,  he 
seemed  to  be  under  a  pang  of  graceful  confusion  and  surprise ; 
begged  that  he  might  not  put  the  royal  donor  to  such  unneces- 
sary trouble;  at  the  same  time  protesting,  that  he  looked 
upon  his  Highness's  word  as  the  very  best  ratification  of  his 
suit.  With  this  conduct,  and  this  compliment,  the  Elector 
was  not  a  little  pleased.     "  This  is  the  gentleman,"  he  said, 

z2 


270  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

"  who  does  me  a  real  honour;  treats  me  like  a  king;  and  who- 
ever is  disappomted,  he  shall  certainly  be  gratified."  So  we 
are  assured  by  the  testimony  of  revelation,  that  the  patriarch, 
who  staggered  not  through  unbelief,  gave,  and  in  the  most 
signal,  the  most  acceptable  manner,  glory  to  God  (Eom.  iv.  20). 

Is  it  pleasing  to  Christ  1  Quite  the  reverse.  It  dishonours 
His  merit;  it  detracts  from  the  dignity  of  His  righteousness; 
it  would  enervate  the  power  of  His  intercession.  Accordingly 
you  may  observe,  there  is  nothing  which  our  Lord  so  fre- 
Cjuently  reproved  in  His  followers,  as  this  spuit  of  unbelief. 
What  says  He  to  His  disciples,  when  He  came  down  from  the 
mount  of  transfiguration  1  "  0  faithless  and  perverse  genera- 
tion!" They  were  perverse,  because  faithless.  What  says 
He  to  the  travellers  whom  He  overtook  in  their  journey  to 
Emmaus?  "O  fools,  and  slow  of  heart  to  believe!"  They 
were  fools,  because  slow  to  believe.  What  says,  He  to  the 
ajDOstles  after  His  resurrection?  Jesus  "upbraided  them  with 
their  unbelief."  He  took  no  notice  of  their  cowardly  and  per- 
fidious behaviour;  He  inveighed  against  none  of  their  other 
follies  and  infirmities;  but  He  upbraided  them  with  their  un- 
belief. Not  gently  rebuked.  No;  this  was  a  fault  so  unrea- 
sonable in  itself,  so  reproachful  to  their  Master,  so  j^ernicious 
to  themselves,  that  He  severely  reprimanded  them  for  it,  with 
an  air  of  vehemence,  and  with  a  mixture  of  invective. 

Is  it  profitable  to  ourselves  1  Nothing  less.  It  damps  our 
love  and  diminishes  our  comfort.  It  subjects  us  to  that  fear 
which  hath  torment;  and  disqualifies  us  for  that  obedience 
which  is  filial.  In  a  word,  this  distrustful  and  unbclicAdng 
temper  weakens  every  principle  of  piety,  and  impoverishes  the 
whole  soul.  Whence  come  spiritual  oscitancy  and  remissness'? 
whence  proceed  sterility  and  unfruitfiilncss  in  the  knowledge  of 
Christ?  St  Peter  ascribes  them  all  to  a  habitual  unbelief. 
Such  persons,  he  says,  "have  forgotten  that  they  were  purged 
from  their  former  sins."     In  the  regenerate,  where  it  remains, 


A  WINTER  PIECE.  271 

it  is  very  detrimental;  for  "they  that  will  not  believe,  shall 
not  be  established."  In  the  unregenerate,  where  it  prevails, 
it  is  absolutely  destructive;  and  though  it  may  not  kill  like  an 
apoplexy,  it  wastes  like  a  consumption.  "They  could  not 
enter  in  because  of  unbelief." 

Let  us,  then,  my  dear  friend,  cast  away  this  sin,  which  so 
easily  besets  us  both.  It  clogs  our  feet ;  it  hampers  all  our 
powers ;  and  hinders  us  from  running  with  alacrity  and  speed 
the  race  that  is  set  before  us.  What  says  David  1  "  God  hath 
spoken  in  his  holiness ; "  hath  made  an  express  and  inviolable 
promise,  that  I  shall  be  ruler  of  His  people  Israel.  I  will  re- 
joice therefore ;  away  with  every  alarming  apprehension ;  I 
will  even  exult  and  triumph.  Nay  more;  "I  will  divide 
Shechem,  and  mete  out  the  valley  of  Succoth ; "  I  will  look 
upon  the  whole  land  as  my  own.  I  will  divide  it,  and  dispose 
of  it,  just  as  if  it  was  already  in  my  possession.  Why  should 
not  you  and  I  also  say — "God  hath  spoken  in  His  holiness;" 
hath  expressly  and  solemnly  declared,  the  promise  of  an  all- 
sufiicient  Saviour  is  to  you?  We  will  rejoice,  therefore  ;  con- 
fiding in  this  most  faithful  Word,  we  will  bid  adieu  to  all  dis- 
c[uieting  fears,  and  make  our  boast  of  this  glorious  Redeemer. 
Yes;  notwithstanding  all  our  unwortliiness,  Christ  and  His 
atonement,  Christ  and  His  righteousness,  are  ours.  God  hath 
passed  His  word ;  and,  amidst  all  our  temptations,  His  word 
is  our  anchor ;  its  hold  is  firm,  and  its  ground  immoveable. 

^{)e  ^xtmuxm  of  <%noijj.* 

Now  the  winds  cease.  Having  brought  their  load,  they  are 
dismissed  from  service.  They  have  wafted  an  immense  cargo 
of  clouds,  which  empty  themselves  in  snow.  At  first,  a  few 
scattered  shreds  come  wandering  down  the  saddened  sky. 
This  slight  skirmish  is  succeeded  by  a  general  onset.  The 
*  From  the  *' Meditations." 


272  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

flakes,  large  and  mimerous,  and  tliick-wavering,  descend.  They 
dim  the  air,  and  hasten  the  approach  of  night.  Throngh  all 
the  night,  in  softest  silence,  and  with  a  continual  flow,  this 
fleecy  shower  falls.  In  the  morning,  when  we  awake,  what  a 
surprising  change  appears !  Is  this  the  same  world  1  Here  is 
no  diversity  of  colour!  I  can  hardly  distinguish  the  trees 
from  the  hills  on  which  they  grow.  AVliich  are  the  meadows, 
and  which  the  plains?  Where  are  the  green  pastures,  and 
where  the  fallow  lands  ?  AU  things  lie  blended  in  bright  con- 
fusion ;  so  bright,  that  it  heightens  the  splendour  of  day,  and 
even  dazzles  the  organs  of  sight.  The  lawn  is  not  so  fau'  as 
this  snowy  mantle,  wliich  invests  the  fields;  and  even  the  lily, 
was  the  lily  to  appear,  would  look  tarnished  in  its  presence. 
I  can  think  of  but  one  thing  which  excels  or  equals  the  glit- 
tering robe  of  winter.  Is  any  person  desirous  to  knovv^  my 
meaning?  He  may  find  it  explauied  in  that  admirable  hymn,'"' 
composed  by  the  royal  penitent.  Is  any  desirous  to  possess 
this  matchless  ornament  ?  He  will  find  it  ofl'ered  to  his  accept- 
ance in  every  page  of  the  gospel. 

See  !  (for  the  eye  cannot  satisfy  itself  without  viewing  again 
and  again  the  curious,  the  delicate  scene) — see  !  how  the  hedges 
are  habited,  like  spotless  vestals !  The  houses  are  roofed  with 
uniformity  and  lustre.  The  meadows  are  covered  with  a  carpet 
of  the  finest  ermine.  The  groves  bow  beneath  the  lovely  bur- 
den; and  all,  all  below,  is  one  wide,  immense,  shining  waste 
of  white.  By  deep  snows,  and  heavy  rains,  "  God  scaleth  up 
the  hand  of  every  man."  And  for  this  purpose,  adds  our 
sacred  philosopher,  "  that  all  men  may  know  His  work."  He 
confines  them  within  their  doors,  and  puts  a  stop  to  their 
secular  business;  that  they  may  consider  the  things  wliich 
belong  to  their  spiritual  welfare;  that,  having  a  vacation  from 

*  Can  any  tliin.i,'  be  whiter  than  suow  ?  Yes,  saiUi  David  ;  '  If  God  be 
pleased  to  wash  me  from  my  siua  in  the  blood  of  Christ,  1  shall  be  even 
■whiter  than  snow'  (Psa.  li.  7). 


THE  SNOW-SHOWER.  273 

their  ordinary  employ,  tliey  nicay  observe  the  works  of  His 
power,  and  become  acquainted  with  the  mysteries  of  His 
grace. 

And  worthy,  worthy  of  all  observation,  are  the  works  of  the 
great  Creator.  They  are  prodigiously  various,  and  perfectly 
amazing.  How  pliant  and  ductile  is  nature  under  His  form- 
ing hand !  At  His  command,  the  self-same  substance  assumes 
the  most  different  shapes,  and  is  transformed  into  an  endless 
multiplicity  of  figures.  If  He  ordains,  the  water  is  moulded 
into  hail,  and  discharged  upon  the  earth  like  a  volley  of  shot ; 
or  it  is  consolidated  into  ice,  and  defends  the  rivers,  "as  it 
were  with  a  breast-plate."  At  the  bare  intimation  of  His  will, 
the  very  same  element  is  scattered  in  hoar-frost,  like  a  sprink- 
ling of  the  most  attenuated  ashes ;  or  is  spread  over  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  in  these  couches  of  swelling  and  flaky  down. 

The  snow,  however  it  may  carry  the  appearance  of  cold, 
affords  a  warm  garment  for  the  corn;  screens  it  from  nipping 
frosts,  and  cherishes  its  infant-growth.  It  will  abide  for  a 
while,  to  exert  a  protecting  care,  and  exercise  a  fostering  in- 
fluence. Then,  touched  by  the  sun,  or  thawed  by  a  softening 
gale,  the  furry  vesture  melts  into  genial  moisture;  sinks  deep 
into  the  soil,  and  saturates  its  pores  with  the  dissolving  nitre; 
replenishing  the  glebe  with  those  principles  of  vegetative  life, 
which  will  open  into  the  bloom  of  spring,  and  ripen  into  the 
fruits  of  autumn.  Beautiful  emblem  this,  and  comfortable 
representation  of  the  Divine  word,  both  in  the  successful  and 
advantageous  issue  of  its  operation !  "  As  the  rain  cometh 
down,  and  the  snow  from  heaven,  and  returncth  not  thither, 
but  watereth  the  earth,  and  maketli  it  bring  forth  and  bud, 
that  it  may  give  seed  to  the  sower,  and  bread  to  the  eater : 
so  shall  my  word  be,  that  goeth  forth  out  of  my  mouth: 
it  shall  not  return  unto  me  void,  but  shall  accomplish  that 
which  I  please,  and  it  shall  prosper  in  the  thing  whereunto  I 
sent  it"  (Isa.  Iv.  10,  11). 


274  THE  GPvEAT  REVIVAL^  AND  1T8  EVANGELISTS. 

Nature,  at  length,  puts  off  her  lucid  veil.  She  drops  it  in  a 
trickling  thaw.  The  loosened  snow  rolls  in  sheets  from  the 
houses.  Various  openings  spot  the  hills;  which,  even  while 
we  look,  become  larger,  and  more  numerous.  The  trees  rid 
themselves,  by  degrees,  of  the  hoary  incumbrance.  Shook 
from  the  springing  boughs,  part  falls  heavy  to  the  ground,  part 
flies  abroad  in  shining  atoms.  Our  fields  and  gardens,  lately 
buried  beneath  the  drifted  heaps,  rise  plain  and  distinct  to 
view.  Since  we  see  nature  once  again,  has  she  no  verdant 
traces,  no  beautiful  features  left?  They  are,  like  real  friends, 
very  rare ;  and  therefore  the  more  particularly  to  be  regarded, 
tlie  more  highly  to  be  valued.  Here  and  there  the  holly  hangs 
out  her  glowing  berries;  the  latirustinus  spreads  her  graceful 
tufts ;  and  both  under  a  covert  of  unfading  foliage.  The  plain, 
l)ut  hardy  ivy,  clothes  the  decrepit,  crazy  wall;  nor  shrinks 
from  the  friendly  office,  though  the  skies  frown,  and  the  storm 
roars.  The  laurel,  firm,  erect,  and  bold,  expands  its  leaf  of 
vivid  green.  In  spite  of  the  united,  the  repeated  attacks  of 
wind,  and  rain,  and  frost,  it  preserves  an  undismayed  lively 
look;  and  maintains  its  post,  while  withering  millions  fall 
around.  Worthy,  by  vanquishing  the  rugged  force  of  winter, 
worthy  to  adorn  the  triumphant  conqueror's  brow.  Nor  must 
I  forget  the  bay-tree;  which  scorns  to  be  a  mean  pensioner  on 
a  few  transient  sunny  gleams;  or,  with  a  servile  obsequious- 
ness, to  vary  its  appearance,  in  conformity  to  the  changing 
seasons:  Ijy  such  indications  of  sterling  worth,  and  stanch 
resolution,  reading  a  lecture  to  the  poet's  genius,  while  it 
weaves  the  chaplet  for  his  temples.  These,  and  a  few  other 
plants,  clad  with  native  verdure,  retain  their  comely  aspect,  in 
the  bleakest  climes,  and  in  the  coldest  months. 

Such,  and  so  durable,  are  the  accomplishments  of  a  rcfnied 
understanding,  and  an  amiable  temper.  The  tawdry  orna- 
ments of  dress,  which  catch  the  unthinking  vulgar,  soon  be- 
come hisipid  and  despicable.      The  rubied  lip,  and  the  rosy 


GOD  RESISTETIl  THE  PROUD.  275 

cheek  fade.     Even  tlie  sparkling  wit,  as  well  as  tlie  sparkling^ 
eye,  please  but  for  a  moment.     But  the  virtuous  mind  has 
charms,  which  survive  the  decay  of  every  inferior  embellish- 
ment; charms  which  add  to  the  fragrancy  of  the  flower,  the 
permanency  of  the  ever-green. 

Such,  likemse,  is  the  happiness  of  the  sincerely  religious ; 
like  a  tree,  says  the  inspired  moralist,  "  whose  leaf  shall  not 
foil."  He  borrows  not  his  peace  from  external  circumstances, 
but  has  a  frmd  "within,  and  is  "  satisfied  from  himself."  Even 
though  impoverished  by  calamitous  accidents,  he  is  rich  in  the 
possession  of  grace,  and  richer  in  the  hope  of  glory.  His  joys 
are  infinitely  superior  to,  as  well  as  nobly  independent  on,  the 
transitory  glow  of  sensual  delight,  or  the  capricious  favours  of 
what  the  world  calls  fortune. 


SAMUEL  WALKER. 

"  ^otJ  xtmiztl)  tje  ^roiitJ," 

Those  who,  in  the  pride  of  their  hearts,  are  insensible  of 
their  apostate  state,  God  regards  as  rebels,  has  no  favour  for 
them  as  such.  While,  in  their  own  account,  they  are  some 
great  thing,  and  fancy  they  can  produce  suflftcient  proofs  of 
their  being  so ;  in  God's  account  they  are-rebels,  blind,  guilty, 
impotent  apostates ;  too  wise  to  be  taught,  too  good  to  be  for- 
given, too  strong  to  be  succoured.  The  Fall  made  them  rebels, 
delusive  pride  keeps  tliem  in  rebellion ;  and,  with  all  the  sjie- 
cious  show  they  make,  God  observes  they  have  not  submitted, 
neither  returned  unto  their  allegiance,  nor  owned  their  departure 
from  it.  He,  the  Searcher  of  Hearts,  sees  them,  safely  wrapt 
up  as  they  are  in  their  own  conceits,  standing  out  in  present 
actual  rebellion :  He  sees,  that  they  are  this  day  usurpers  of 
His  throne  in  self-government ;  arrogant  dcspoilers  of  His  glory 
in  the  account  and  use  they  make  of  His  gifts;  seekers  of 


276  THE  GEEAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

worldly  lionours,  or  praise,  or  ease,  or  interest  in  the  wliole 
bent  of  their  spirits,  as  having  all  their  prospects  of  security 
and  enjoyment  shut  up  within  visible  things;  hypocritical  dis- 
semblers with  Him  at  least,  being  without  all  truth  and  honesty 
in  the  services  they  pretend  to  pay  Him;  lovers  of  sin,  and 
haters  of  God,  in  the  very  bottom  of  their  hearts;  remorselessly 
insensible  to  any  godly  sorrow  for  whatever  sin  they  have  com- 
mitted against  His  majesty  and  glory;  stubbornly  disregarding 
His  judgments  threatened  against  sin,  or  insolently  disputing 
the  justice  of  them;  imtouched  by  His  patience,  displeased  at 
His  providential  distributions,  wishing  there  was  no  God;  in 
reality,  living  without  God  in  the  world  :  and  all  this,  notwith- 
standing the  appearances  they  may  many  of  them  have  of  reli- 
gion.    In  a  word,  God  sees  them  lying  in  a  state  of  natural 
apostasy;  in  His  account  they  are  actual  rebels  in  arms,  as 
such  He  regards  and  treats  them.     They  remain  under  the  for- 
feiture made  in  Adam,  of  all  Divine  favour  and  blessings.    God 
is  against  them :  His  wrath  is  upon  them.     The  fear  of  death 
galls  them.     They  have  not  grace  to  enjoy  anything  they  have 
with  true  comfort :  but,  through  want  of  grace,  they  turn  all 
their  possessions  into  curses.     However   they  may  flourish, 
they  are  never  really  blessed  in  their  temporal  concerns;   and 
in  those  that  are  spiritual,  God  is  evidently  their  enemy.     He 
leaves  them  in  blindness,  hardness,  and  impenitcncy  of  heart ; 
they  lie  asleep  in  the  lap  of  security ;  they  are  torn  in  pieces 
by  the  rage  of  ungoverned  passions  and  appetites,   anxious 
covetousness,  desponding  envy,  furious  resentment,  impatient 
ambition,  insatiate  inclination ;  they  live  to  no  better  purpose, 
than,  by  adding  sin  unto  sin,  to  prepare  for  themselves  accu- 
mulated damnation.     Every  way  the  displeasure  of  an  unre- 
conciled resisting  God  is  manifest  towards  them.     Their  offer- 
ings arc  an  abomination;  their  prayers  do  not  enter  heaven; 
their  liberalities  are  not  accepted :     They  do  these  in  the  pride 
of  an  apostate  heart;  wherefore  God  is  against  them :    They  do 


C40D  GIVETH  GRACE  TO  THE  HUMBLE.  277 

but  "sow  the  wind,  and  reap  the  whirlwind"  (Hos.  viii.  7). 
This,  and  whatever  beside  is  included  under  the  terms  wrath 
and  indignation,  is  comprehended  in  God's  resisting  the  proud. 
The  humble  are  as  much,  on  the  other  part,  objects  of  God's 
compassion  and  love.  "  To  this  man  will  I  look,  even  to  him 
that  is  poor  and  of  a  contrite  spirit,  and  trembleth  at  my 
word"  (Isaiah  Ixvi.  2).  Poverty  of  spirit  is  the  qualification 
for  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  And  no  sooner  does  any  one  of 
us,  God's  prodigal  children,  come  to  himself,  but  mercy  comes 
to  meet  him.  It  is  not  through  want  of  mercy  in  God,  but 
through  our  pride,  that  any  difference  subsists  between  Him 
and  us :  do  we  humble  ourselves  ?  He  lays  aside  His  displeasure. 
Let  the  whole  Scripture  bear  witness,  if  there  is  not  forgive- 
ness with  God  j  and  a  multitude  of  passages  in  it,  if  that  for- 
giveness does  not  belong  to  the  humble ;  forgiveness,  with  all 
the  delightful  blessings  that  accompany  it.  "God  giveth 
grace  to  the  humble ;"  evangelical  favour  in  its  whole  extent 
is  theirs.  To  the  apostate  sinner,  that  lies  in  deep  abasement 
of  spirit,  smitten  with  a  sense  of  his  guilt,  acknowledging  his 
desert  of  every  judgment,  hopeless  in  himself  and  helpless, 
hardly  presuming  to  ask  the  mercy  without  wliich  he  is  for 
ever  undone,  God  giveth  grace ;  grace  in  all  its  largeness,  com- 
prehending pardon,  reconciliation,  adoption,  sanctification,  and 
an  inheritance  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  There  is  not  a 
greater  distance  between  God  and  the  proud,  than  there  is  in- 
timate union  between  Him  and  the  humble.  If  God  be  not 
determined  to  cast  off  apostate  man  without  remedy,  which  we 
are  assured  He  is  not;  and  if  yet  He  cannot  receive  us  con- 
tinuing obstinate ;  He  will  certainly  do  so  when  we  confess  our 
sin,  and  are  willing  to  submit.  There  is  grace  provided  for 
fallen  man,  which,  if  it  cannot  be  conferred  on  some,  because 
they  do  not  believe  they  want  it,  it  will  be  granted  to  those 
that  have  found  they  do,  if  any  use  is  to  be  made  of  it  at  all. 

VOL.  IV.  2  a 


278  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL^  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS, 


JOHN  BERRIDGE.'" 

Jalse  .Sfcuri'tu,  nnti  ^Prnrc  in  Bcltclimtf. 

Phj/sickm. — Now,  sir,  licar  wliat  yonr  own  peace  is.  You 
feel  no  distress  of  mincl,  but  are  mighty  easy ;  and  your  calm, 
wliicli  is  a  dead  calm,  arisetli  from  j^our  character,  though  a 
.sinful  character  at  best.  Your  peace  brings  no  heavenly  joy, 
and  so  comes  not  from  heaven  ;  neither  does  it  flow  entirely 
through  the  golden  conduit  of  the  Saviour's  merit,  but  drip- 
peth  from  a  rotten  wooden  pipe  of  your  own  duties.  You  are, 
it  seems,  a  cheerful,  harmless  creature,  like  a  robin-redbreast, 
who  is  much  respected  everywhere  ;  and  you  frequent  the 
church,  as  many  a  pious  mouse  will,  yet  does  not  like  her 
quarters  :  prayer-books  are  dry  champing ;  a  pantry  suits  her 
better.  And  you  see  many  who  are  worse  than  yourself  abun- 
dantly, which  makes  you  hope  your  state  is  good ;  and  while 
outward  things  go  smooth,  your  calm  continues.  But  when 
calamities  come  on,  and  thicken  as  they  come,  your  peace  is 
gone;  it  cannot  stand  a  tempest.  And  when  your  soul  is 
hovering  on  a  sickbed  for  its  flight,  it  will  either  feel  a  dead 
security,  or  take  a  frightful  leap  into  another  world.  Unless 
you  arc  supported  l)y  divine  faith,  you  cannot  sing  the  Chris- 
tian's dying  song,  "  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O  grave, 
where  is  thy  victory  ? 

Now,  sir,  \\Q  proceed  to  another  point  of  faith,  and  a  choice 
one  too,  very  savoury  and  nourishing  to  a  true  believer.     St 

*  "  If  among  many  striking,  Berridge  says  some  strange  things ;  if  always 
original,  he  is  occasionally  odd ;  if  in  this  book  there  are  a  few  instances  of 
the  picturesque  approaching  the  grotesque,  the  reader  will  readily  excuse 
these  for  the  sake  of  the  noble  piety  with  which  the  book  is  pervaded,  the 
golden  truths  that  lie  imbedded  in  its  pages,  and  a  style  and  manner  pre- 
eminently calculated  to  rouse  the  dullest  attention,  and  break  through  that 
indilforence  with  which  familiarity  encrusts  the  most  solemn  and  moment- 
ous .sulijccts."— r/ic  Christian  World  Unmaslccd,  ke.  ^Yith  Life  of  tlio 
Author,  by  the  llev.  T.  Guthrie.    1853.     T.  18. 


THE  FARMER  AND  PHYSICIAN.  279 

Peter  tells  us,  tlmt  "faitli  purifies  the  heart"  (Acts  xv.  9); 
aud  St  John  affirms,  "  This  is  the  victory,  whereby  we  over- 
come the  world,  even  our  faith"  (1  John  v.  4) ;  and  he  tells  us 
what  he  means  by  the  Avorld,  even  "  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  the 
lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life"  (1  John  ii.  16). 

Come,  sir,  bring  your  face  to  the  gospel-glass,  and  handle 
this  point  well,  like  an  old  grazier.  Does  your  ftiith  overcome 
the  "  lust  of  the  flesh  j"  making  you  victorious  over  your  palate, 
and  over  outv/ard  pollution,  and  inward  uncleanness  ? 

Docs  your  faith  overcome  the  "  lust  of  the  eye,"  and  keep 
your  heart  from  gasping  after  more  wealth,  more  preferment,  or 
more  honours  1  "  Having  food  and  raiment,  have  you  learnt 
therewith  to  be  content  r'  (1  Tim.  vi.  8). 

Does  your  faith  overcome  the  "  pride  of  life,"  and  prevent 
your  being  charmed  with  a  lofty  house,  rich  furniture,  genteel 
equipage,  and  splendid  raiment?  Does  it  make  you  sick  of 
earthly  vanities,  and  draw  your  heart  to  things  above  1 

Speak,  sir,  and  speak  honestly.  If  you  are  a  slave  to  these 
matters,  and  a  quiet  slave,  you  may  keep  your  faith  j  Satan 
will  not  steal  it  from  you.  His  own  sooty  cap  is  full  as  good 
as  your  rusty  bonnet.  The  devils  do  believe,  and  tremble,  but 
arc  devils  still. 

One  point  more,  sir,  and  v.'c  have  done.  Faith  is  not  only 
intended  to  pacify  the  conscience,  and  purify  the  heart,  but  also 
to  rescue  the  mind  from  earthly  troubles.  Our  passage  through 
life  is  attended  with  storms ;  we  sail  upon  a  boisterous  sea, 
where  many  tempests  are  felt,  and  many  are  feared,  which  look 
black,  and  bode  mischief,  but  pass  over.  Now,  faith  is  de- 
signed for  an  anchor,  to  keep  the  mind  steady,  and  give  it  rest ; 
even  as  Isaiah  saith,  "  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace, 
whose  mind  is  stayed  on  thee,  because  he  trusteth  in  thee" 
(Isa.  xxvi.  3). 

Precious  promises,  suited  to  our  wants,  are  scattered  through 
the  Bible ;  and  divine  faith  will  feed  upon  the  promises,  look- 


280  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

ing  unto  Jesus  to  fulfil  them ;  but  human  faith  can  reap  no 
profit  from  them.  Let  me  suppose  you  in  distressful  circum- 
stances, and  while  musing  on  them  with  an  anxious  heart,  you 
cast  a  look  upon  a  distant  Bible.  The  book  is  fetched  and 
opened,  and  this  passage  meets  your  eye,  "  Call  upon  me  in 
the  day  of  trouble,  I  will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify 
me"  (Psalm  1.  15).  Here  you  view  a  gracious  promise,  made 
by  a  faithful  God,  and  made  without  limitation  or  condition, 
directed  unto  every  one  that  reads  or  hears  it,  applicable  to 
every  time  of  trouble,  and  requiring  only  prayer  of  faith  for  de- 
liverance. Yet,  sir,  it  is  possible  this  blessed  promise  might 
not  even  draw  a  prayer  from  you;  perhaps  it  gains  a  little 
musing,  and  the  book  is  closed.  Or  if  it  should  extort  a  feeble 
cry,  the  prayer  does  not  ease  your  heart,  nor  fetch  deliverance, 
for  want  of  faith. 

You  know  the  word  of  Jesus,  "  All  things  whatsoever  ye 
shall  ask  in  prayer,"  believing,  "ye  shall  receive"  (Matt.  xxi. 
22).  But  for  want  of  faith,  your  reasoning  heart  will  ask, 
^'  From  whence  can  this  deliverance  come?"  What  is  that  to 
you,  sir  1  God  keeps  the  means  of  deliverance  out  of  sight,  on 
purpose  to  exercise  our  faith,  but  promises  to  "  make  a  way  for 
our  escape,"  though  we  can  see  none  (1  Cor.  x.  13). 

Or  perhaps  you  may  surmise,  "  This  promise  was  not  meant 
for  me ;  I  am  not  worthy  of  it."  Sir,  God's  promise  is  not 
made  to  compliment  your  worthiness,  but  to  manifest  the  riches 
of  his  grace  in  Christ  Jesus.  Did  you  mind  how  the  promise 
runs  ?  It  is  not  said,  "  Glorify  me  first,  and  afterward  I  will 
deliver  thee;"  which  would  be  making  man's  worthiness  a 
foundation  for  God's  blessings.  But  he  says,  "  I  will  deliver 
thee,  and  then  thou  shalt  glorify  j\Ie." 

Faith  considers  all  the  promises  as  freely  made  to  supply  our 
wants,  and  rests  upon  the  Lord's  faithfulness  to  fulfil  them; 
and  when  a  promise  is  fidfillcd,  adores  the  mercy,  and  glorifies 
the  Lord  for  it.     In  this  way,  and  this  only,  he  gets  some 


BANK  NOTES.  281 

hearty  rent  of  praise.  *  Such  free  deliverance  wins  the  heart, 
and  binds  it  to  the  Lord,  and  makes  obedience  cheerful. 

I  know  a  man  who  spends  his  income  yearly,  because  he  has 
no  family ;  as  little  as  he  can  upon  himself,  and  the  rest  upon 
his  neighbours.  He  keeps  no  purse  against  a  rainy  day,  and 
wants  none  ;  Jesus  Christ  is  his  banker — and  a  very  able  one. 
Sometimes,  by  sickness  or  unforeseen  expenses,  he  gets  behind 
hand,  and  greatly  so.  At  such  times,  he  does  not  run  about 
among  his  earthly  friends  to  seek  relief,  but  falleth  on  his 
knees,  and  calls  upon  his  banker,  saying,  "  Lord,  I  am  in  want, 
and  Thou  must  help  me.  Here  I  bring  Thy  gracious  promise ; 
look  upon  it,  Jesus.  It  says,  '  Call  upon  Me  in  the  time  of 
trouble,  I  mil  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify  Me.'  Lord, 
I  call,  and  Thou  dost  hear  ;  I  believe,  and  Thou  art  faithful ; 
be  it  now  unto  me,  according  to  Thy  word."  Such  prayers,  he 
said,  never  failed  to  bring  supplies  :  some,  from  those  who 
cared  for  him  ;  and  some,  from  such  as  did  avoid  his  company. 
For  Jesus  Christ  has  every  heart  and  purse  in  his  own  hand ; 
and  often  makes  a  raven  feed  his  prophets,  or  makes  the  "  earth 
to  help  the  woman,"  to  shew  His  finger  clearly  in  such  de- 
liverance. 

Scripture  promises  are  real  bank-notes  of  heaven,  and  the 
true  riches  of  believers,  who  do  not  live  on  stock  in  hand,  but 
traffic  with  this  paper-currency.  Where  divine  faith  is  found 
it  takes  the  notes  to  Christ's  bank,  and  receives  the  cash.  But 
human  foith  cannot  traffic  with  tliis  paper ;  it  reads  the  notes, 
and  owns  them  good,  but  dares  not  take  them  to  the  skies  for 
payment.  No  fciith  can  truly  act  on  God  but  that  which 
comes  from  God. 

Prayer  of  faith,  exercised  with  perseverance,  surely  brings 
deliverance,  if  not  immediately,  yet  at  a  proper  season ;  and 
till  deliverance  comes,  the  "mind  is  stayed  on  God,  and 
kept  in  perfect  peace."  Faith  picks  the  thorns  out  of  the  flesh, 
and  takes  the  ranlding  pain  away,  before  the  wound  is  healed. 

2  A  2 


282  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

Farmer. — Tnily,  doctor,  now  you  make  me  thouglitful.  I 
begin  to  see  my  rusty  bonnet,  and  confess  it  woidd  fit  a  friend's 
head  as  well  as  mine.  INIy  faith  will  not  produce  the  precious 
fruit  you  have  mentioned.  It  brings  no  peace,  passing  all  un- 
derstanding ;  affords  no  real  victory  over  the  world  ;  and  yields 
no  sweet  relief  in  time  of  trouble.  It  picks  no  thorns  out  of 
my  flesh ;  it  must  be  counterfeit.  My  support  in  trouble 
arises  from  my  purse,  or  from  my  friends,  and  not  from  faith. 
Yet  I  cannot  comprehend  how  a  mere  reliance  on  God's  pro- 
mise can  charm  away  our  grief,  and  set  the  heart  at  rest  before 
deliverance  comes.     This  seems  a  charm  indeed  ! 

Physician. — So  it  is,  sir,  and  a  most  delightful  charm ;  yet 
not  fanciful,  but  real,  having  good  foundation  in  our  nature. 
Wliere  divine  ftiith  is  given,  it  will  act  on  God,  as  human  faith 
will  act  on  man,  and  produce  the  same  effects.  A  case  will 
make  my  meaning  plain. 

I  suppose  you,  as  before,  fallen  in  great  distress,  and  a 
lawyer's  letter  is  received,  bringing  doleful  tidings,  that  your 
person  will  be  seized,  unless  your  debts  are  paid  within  a 
month.  While  the  letter  is  perusing,  an  old  acquaintance  calls 
upon  you,  sees  a  gloom  upon  your  face,  and  asks  the  cause  of 
it.  You  put  the  letter  in  liis  hand  :  he  reads,  and  drops  a 
friendly  tear.  After  some  little  pause,  he  says,  "  Old  friend,  I 
have  not  cash  at  present  by  me,  but  engage  to  pay  your  debts 
before  the  month  is  out."  Now,  sir,  if  you  thought  this  per- 
son was  not  able  to  discharge  your  debts,  or  not  to  be  rehed 
on,  because  his  mind  was  fickle,  his  promise  would  bring  no 
relief,  because  it  gains  no  credit.  You  have  no  faith  in  him. 
But  if  you  knew  the  man  was  able,  and  might  be  trusted,  his 
promise  would  relieve  you  instantly.  A  firm  reliance  on  his 
word  would  take  away  your  burden,  and  set  your  mind  at  ease, 
before  the  debt  was  paid. 

Well,  sir,  if  a  firm  reliance  on  the  word  of  man  has  this 
sweet  influence  on  the  heart,  a  firm  reliance  on  the  word  of 


EOMAINE.  283 

God  will  have  the  same.  Why  should  it  not  1  God's  word 
deserveth  as  much  credit  surely  as  the  word  of  man.  He  is 
able  to  perform,  and  as  faithful  to  fulfil  His  promise,  as  your 
neighbour,  "No  one  ever  trusted  in  Him,  and  was  con- 
founded." And  where  the  "  mind  is  stayed  on  God,  it  will  be 
kept  in  perfect  peace,"  before  deliverance  comes.  Such  may 
say,  with  David,  "God  is  our  refuge,  therefore  w^e  will  not 
fear,  though  the  earth  be  removed,  and  the  mountains  carried 
into  the  midst  of  the  sea"  (Psalm  xlvi.  1-2).  Or  with  Habak- 
kuk,  "Though  the  fig-tree  should  not  blossom,  nor  fruit  be 
in  the  vine ;  though  the  ohve  too  should  fail,  and  the  fields 
yield  no  meat ;  though  the  flock  be  cut  off  from  the  fold,  and 
no  herd  be  found  in  the  stalls,  yet  will  I  rejoice  in  the  Lord,  I 
will  joy  in  the  God  of  my  salvation."  The  prop  of  God's  faith- 
ful word  cannot  break ;  and  a  human  heart,  restuig  firmly  on 
it,  never  can  sink.  And  men  might  learn  to  feel  their  unbe- 
lief from  want  of  this  support  in  trouble.  The  prop  stands 
ready  on  the  king's  high-road,  to  suj^port  all  weary  passengers ; 
but  they  have  not  faith  to  lean  upon  it,  else  they  would  find 
rest. 

In  speculation,  it  seems  as  easy  to  trust  a  faithful  God  as 
trast  an  upright  man ;  but  in  practice,  it  is  found  otherwise. 
When  trials  come,  men  cannot  trust  a  faithful  God  without 
divine  assistance  ;  so  trust  Him  as  to  cast  their  burden  on 
Him,  and  obtain  His  perfect  peace.  Here  the  charm  of  faith 
ceaseth,  because  there  is  no  faith  to  charm. 

W^ILLIAM  ROMAINE. 

Consider,  O  my  soul,  those  motives  to  an  holy  walk.  Put 
them  all  together;  weigh  them  carefully  again  and  agam;  do 
it  faithfully,  as  in  the  presence  of  God;  and  then  try  whether 
thou  art  walking  in  the  way  of  duty  with  a  free  spirit.     Dost 


284  THE  GREAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

thoii  proceed  upon  evangelical  or  upon  legal  principles  ?     Dost 
thou  serve  God  for  wages  or  for  love  ?     Examine  thy  heart. 
God  looks  chiefly  at  it.     How  is  it  in  duty?     Is  thine  obe- 
dience to  justify  thee  in  the  least,  or  does  it  spring  from  thy 
sense  of  being  justified  freely   and  fully?     Art  thou   going 
about  to  establish  thine  own  righteousness,  or  dost  thou  sub- 
mit to  the  righteousness  of  God  ?     Art  thou  working  from  life, 
or  for  life  ?     I  rec[uire  thee  to  examine  diligently,  by  the  light 
of  the  Word,  and  by  the  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  what  thy 
motives  are;  for  there  is  no  acceptable  obedience  but  what  is 
done  in  faith.     Whatsover  is  not  of  faith,  is  sin.     If  thou  art 
acting  aright,  the  love  of  Christ  is  constraining  thee  to  obe- 
dience.    Thou  art  living  under  the  influence  of  free  grace. 
Thy  conscience  is  at  peace  with  God.     Thou  hast  sweet  liberty 
to  serve  Him  without  fear.     Thy  heart  delights  in  His  service, 
and  love  makes  His  ways  the  joy  of  thy  soul.     Thou  knowest 
what  Jacob  felt  when  he  served  seven  years  for  Rachel,  and 
they  seemed  unto  him  but  a  few  days  for  the  love  he  had  to 
her.     A  gospel  spirit  does  the  same  to  God — love  makes  long 
service  short,  and  hard  service  easy.     Nothing  is  pain  which 
love  does.     And  this  is  gospel  obedience.     It  is  fjiith  working 
by  love  which  refines  duty  into  a  grace — the  commandments 
are   exalted    into    privileges — the    ordinances   become   happy 
means  of  fellowship  with  God.     The  believer  meets  God  in 
them,  and  by  free  converse  he  exercises  and  improves  liis  love. 
He  draws  near  to  God,  and  God  draws  near  to  Mm  in  prayer, 
in  praise,  in  hearing  the  Word,  at  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  in  all 
Sabbath  duties.     In  these  ways  God  manifests  His  gracious 
presence,  and  the  believer  rejoices  in  it.     God  communicates 
His   grace,    and  the  believer  receives   it  with   thankfulness. 
O  my  soul,  pray  before  duty  for  nmch  of  this  communion  with 
God  in  it.     Seek  it  as  the  one  great  end  of  all  duty.     And  if 
thou  findest  it,  bless  and  praise  the  goodness  of  thy  God. 
But  still  seek  to  be  more  spiritual  and  evangelical,  that  the 


GOSPEL  OBEDIENCE.  285 

fruits  of  thy  fellowship  with  God  may  appear  in  thy  practice 
of  the  duties  of  the  second  table.  Love  to  God  will  manifest 
itself  by  love  to  men ;  for  the  Holy  Spirit  teaches  all  His  dis- 
ciples to  love  one  another,  and  He  teaches  effectually.  He  not 
only  makes  them  understand  what  brotherly  love  is,  but  He 
also  gives  it.  They  become  partakers  of  the  grace,  and  are 
enabled  to  practise  it.  Thus  He  recommends  and  enforces 
His  lessons.  He  renders  His  scholars  kind  to  one  another,  and 
tender-hearted.  He  puts  forth  His  mighty  power,  and  subdues 
the  vile,  selfish  tempers  of  the  old  man,  and  brings  into  use 
the  benevolent  tempers  of  the  new  man.  While  He  carries  on 
the  gracious  work.  His  disciples  grow  more  acquainted  with 
themselves,  and  learn  heart  humility.  He  makes  them  feel 
their  fallen  state,  their  sinfulness,  and  their  danger;  in  the 
sense  of  their  guilt  and  of  their  distance  from  God,  they  are 
willing  to  receive  Christ  for  their  whole  salvation,  and  then  to 
enjoy  in  Him  all  the  blessings  of  the  Father's  love  in  earth 
and  heaven. 

If  thou  findest  it  difficult,  O  my  soul,  to  walk  according  to 
this  rule — if  to  obey  from  love  to  God,  to  love  men  for  God's 
sake,  and  in  the  sense  of  thine  own  vileness  to  be  humbled  to 
the  dust — if  these  be  hard  lessons,  consider  what  makes  them 
so.  Where  is  the  difficulty?  Is  it  not  in  thyself?  And  is  it 
not  chiefly  in  thy  not  using,  and  not  bringing  into  practice,  the 
principles  advanced  in  the  former  chapters?  Duty  must  be 
hard  if  the  spring  of  obedience  be  not  in  motion ;  but  if  this 
act  freely,  then  all  will  go  on  well. 

Thy  whole  conduct  through  life  depends  upon  the  nature  of 
the  salvation  of  which  thou  art  a  partaker  by  grace.  Consider 
it  attentively.  The  growing  knowledge  of  it  Avill  engage  thine 
affections  to  a  willing  obedience.  Is  it  not  a  complete  salva- 
tion— an  absolutely  perfect  work — yea,  the  greatest  work  of 
God?  Because  all  the  rest  come  from  it,  and  lead  to  it.  Is 
it  not  the  infinitely  "wise  contrivance  of  the  eternal  Three,  for 


286  THE  GREAT  EEVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

wliicli  everlasting  glory  is  to  be  given  to  every  divine  attribute  ? 
When  every  other  work  of  God  shall  cease,  for  this  all  heaven 
will  to  eternity  be  ascribing  honour,  and  blessing,  and  praise 
to  Father,  Son,  and  Spirit.  Attend,  O  my  soul,  to  the  Scrip- 
ture account  of  this  salvation.  Ke\iew  the  glory  of  it.  Piead 
again  and  again  the  revealed  descriptions  of  it,  till  thy  heart 
be  satisfied  that  this  salvation  is  as  perfect  and  complete  as  the 
Lord  God  Almighty  could  make  it.  This  is  its  character. 
Hast  thou  studied  it  well,  and  art  thou  well  grounded  and 
established  in  the  belief  of  it?  ]Mind,  this  is  the  foundation. 
If  this  totter,  so  will  all  the  superstructure.  O  pray,  then,  and 
be  earnest  in  prayer,  that  God  would  enlarge  thy  views  of  the 
infinitely  glorious  and  everlastingly  perfect  salvation  which  is 
in  Christ  Jesus. 

As  thou  growest  more  acquainted  with  it,  thou  wilt  see  less 
reason  to  be  discouraged  at  the  experience  of  what  thou  art  in 
thyself.  It  is  a  salvation  for  sinners,  such  as  thou  art,  and  no 
way  differing  from  thee.  Only  vv'hen  they  are  called  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  truth  they  are  acquainted  with  their  fallen 
state,  are  made  sensible  of  their  helplessness  and  of  their 
misery,  but  are  made  wilhng  to  cast  their  souls  at  God's  com- 
mand upon  the  Lord  Jesus,  trusting  to  the  peace  which  He 
made  by  the  blood  of  the  cross.  And  art  not  thou  in  the 
happy  number  of  these  redeemed  sinners?  Dost  not  thou 
believe  the  record  which  God  hath  given  of  His  Son,  and  look 
uj)on  it  as  thy  lawful  warrant — to  make  use  of  what  is  laid  up 
in  the  fulness  of  Jesus — thine  to  take  freely — thine  to  use 
fully,  the  more  the  better — thine  for  receiving,  without  any 
condition  or  any  qualification?  He  loves  to  give,  and  with- 
out money  or  money's  worth.  He  thhiks  Himself  honoured 
by  the  pensioners  of  His  grace,  who  bring  nothing  to  recom- 
mend themselves  but  their  sins  and  miseries,  and  yet  trust  in 
His  promised  relief.  Herein  He  glories.  When  they  come 
to  Hun  believing,  He  bestows  His  royal  gifts  upon  every  one 


FOLLOW  CHRIST.  287 

of  tliem;  and  so  far  as  they  believe,  He  witliliolds  iiotlniig 
that  is  needful  for  their  holy  walk  in  the  way  of  duty. 

These  are  the  principles  which  thou  art  to  bring  into  prac- 
tice. Carry  them,  O  my  soul,  into  every  act  of  obedience. 
Go  to  prayer  and  every  duty  mth  this  faith,  that  thou  art  in 
Christ,  and  in  Him  a  partaker  of  His  finished  salvation.  Then 
the  Father's  love  to  thee  will  be  manifest,  and  thou  wilt  have 
sweet  fellowship  with  Him  in  all  tliine  approaches  to  the  throne. 
Whatever  thou  undertakest,  forget  not  this  leading  truth.  If 
thou  lose  sight  of  it,  thou  wilt  get  into  darkness.  If  thou  art 
not  influenced  by  it,  thou  wilt  be  brought  into  bondage. 
Upon  this  absolutely  perfect  salvation  thou  art  to  live  by  faith 
upon  earth,  and  thou  ^vilt  have  nothing  else  to  live  upon  by 
sense  in  heaven.  Trusting  to  the  complete  work  of  Jesus, 
thou  art  to  walk  with  thy  God  in  time,  as  thou  wilt  follow  the 
Lamb  in  eternity,  receiving  all  out  of  His  fulness.  O  view 
Him  in  this  light,  and  it  will  have  the  happiest  effects  upon 
thy  daily  walk.  While  thou  art  receiving  from  Him  gTace  for 
grace,  thou  wilt  live  with  Him  in  sweet  friendship — duty  will 
be  the  way  and  means  of  enjoying  the  love  of  thy  Divine  friend 
— and  the  more  thou  art  in  His  company,  the  more  delightful 
will  be  the  way  of  His  commandments.  These  are  the  privi- 
leges. Read  the  promises  concerning  them.  Call  to  mind 
what  thy  Father  in  .Jesus  has  engaged  to  give  His  children. 
Has  He  not  pro\idcd  grace  sufficient  for  them?  And  is  it  not 
for  His  honour,  as  well  as  thy  profit,  that  He  should  give  both 
the  will  and  the  power  to  walk  humbly  with  Him?  O  plead 
His  promises.  Bind  Him  mth  His  faithfulness.  Be  impor- 
tunate with  Him,  and  pray  without  ceasing. 

THOMAS  ADAM. 

Ecsirjnation. 
Submission  to  the  will  of  God,  with  experience  of  His  sup- 


288  THE  GEEAT  REVIVAL,  AND  ITS  EVANGELISTS. 

port  in  pain,  sickness,  nffliction,  is  a  more  joyous  and  liappy 
state,  than  any  degree  of  health  or  worldly  prosperity. 

In  pain,  sickness,  trouble,  methinks  I  hear  God  saying, 
Take  this  medicine,  exactly  suited  to  the  case,  prepared  and 
weighed  by  ;My  own  hands,  and  consisting  of  the  choicest 
drugs  which  heaven  affords. 

Be  not  disturbed  for  trifles.  By  the  practice  of  this  rule  we 
should  come  in  time  to  think  most  things  too  trifling  to  dis- 
turb us. 

The  highest  angels  are  at  an  infinite  distance  from  the 
knowledge  of  God  ;  and,  therefore,  there  must  of  necessity  be 
always  something  in  His  nature  and  acts  mysterious  even  to 
them  :  Why,  then,  should  not  we  be  content  with  our  dark- 
ness, and  submit  to  live  by  faith  here,  when  we  must  do  it  to 
all  eternity? 

)Suffering  is  an  excellent  preacher,  sent  immediately  from 
heaven,  to  speak  aloud  in  the  name  of  God  to  the  heart,  mind, 
and  conscience,  and  has  saved  many  a  soul,  when,  humanly 
speaking,  nothing  else  could. 

God  is  always  with  me,  though  I  am  not  with  Him ;  and 
because  I  do  not  advert  to  His  presence.  He  sends  pain  to  in- 
troduce and  even  force  me  mto  His  company. 

We  are  always  thinking  we  should  be  better  with  or  with- 
out such  a  thing ;  but  if  we  do  not  steal  a  little  content  in 
present  circumstances,  there  is  no  hope  of  any  other. 


PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

BISHOP  BEVERIDGE. 

At  the  outset  of  the  eighteenth  century,  there  was  no  man 
more  to  be  envied  than  Dr  William  Beveridge.  As  a  preacher 
he  was  much  admired,  but  no  reputation  could  be  more  inde- 
pendent of  rhetorical  artifice  :  for  no  preacher  of  that  day  was 
more  exclusively  beholden  for  the  attraction  and  success  of  his 
ministry  to  the  seriousness  of  his  own  spirit,  and  the  surpassing 
importance  of  the  truths  he  proclaimed.  Although  he  was 
known  to  the  learned  as  the  author  of  masterly  treatises  on 
chronology,  Church  history,  and  the  Oriental  languages,  it  wa^ 
the  exemplary  assiduity  and  success  with  which  he  had  dis- 
charged the  laborious  duties  of  a  protracted  parochial  pasto- 
rate which  gained  for  him  the  good  report  of  all  men.  And 
although  it  was  a  time  of  fierce  political  rancour,  there  were 
circumstances  in  his  position  which  went  far  to  exempt  him 
from  the  opposing  antipathies  of  Whigs  and  Tories.  The 
kingdom  to  which  he  belonged  was  evidently  "  not  of  this, 
world,"  and  whilst  his  allegiance  to  the  House  of  Orange  saved 
him  from  the  irritations  and  hardships  incident  to  the  lot  of  a 
non-juror,  his  refusal  to  succeed  Kenn,  the  deprived  Bishop  of 
Bath  and  Walls,  gained  him  the  respect  of  the  Jacobites. 

This  good  man  was  born  in  1G37,  at  Barrow,  in  Leicester- 
shire, where  his  father  and  grandfather  had  each  held  the 
vicarage.  He  was  educated  at  St  John's  College,  Cambridge. 
The  successive  cures  he  held  were  Ealing,  in  Middlesex,  and 
St  Peter's,  Cornhill.  In  July  1704,  he  was  consecrated  Bishop 
of  St  Asaph,  and  died  at  Westminster,  March  5,  1708. 

Early  in  life — when  he  was  about  twenty-three  years  of  age 
— he  drew  up  a  series  of  practical  resolutions  for  the  guidance 

VOL.  IV.  2  B 


290  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

of  liis  ovi-ii  conduct.  These  ^Yere  publislied  after  Lis  death, 
under  the  title,  "  Private  Thoughts  on  Eeligion."  Of  their 
style  the  follo^^ing  specimen  will  give  some  idea  : — 

jFlattcrg  auti  Qf traction. 

"  I  am  resolved,  by  the  grace  of  Grotl,  to  speak  of  other  men's  sins  only 
before  then-  faces,  and  of  their  virtues  only  behind  their  backs." 

To  commend  men  when  they  are  present,  I  esteem  almost  as 
great  a  piece  of  folly  as  to  re^Drove  them  when  they  are  absent  : 
though  I  do  confess,  in  some  cases,  and  to  some  persons,  it  may 
be  commendable  ;  especially  when  the  person  is  not  apt  to  be 
puffed  up,  but  spurred  on  by  it.  But  to  rail  at  others,  when 
they  hear  me  not,  is  the  highest  piece  of  folly  imaginable  ;  for, 
as  it  is  impossible  they  should  get  any  good,  so  is  it  impossible 
but  that  I  should  get  much  hurt  by  it.  For  such  sort  of 
words,  make  the  very  best  we  can  of  them,  are  but  idle  and 
unprofitable,  and  may  not  only  prove  injurious  to  the  person  of 
whom,  but  even  to  whom  they  are  spoken,  by  wounding  the 
credit  of  the  former,  and  the  charity  of  the  latter ;  and  so,  by 
consequence,  my  own  soul ;  nay,  even  though  I  s^^eak  that 
wliich  is  true  in  itself,  and  known  to  be  so  to  me  ;  and,  there- 
fore, this  way  of  backbiting  ought  by  all  means  to  be  avoided. 

But  I  must,  much  more,  have  a  care  of  raising  false  reports 
concerning  any  one,  or  of  giving  credit  to  them  that  raise  them, 
or  of  passing  my  judgment,  till  I  have  weighed  the  matter ; 
lest  I  transgress  the  niles  of  mercy  and  charity,  which  command 
me  not  to  censure  any  one  upon  others'  rumours,  or  my  otmi 
surmises  ;  nay,  if  the  thing  be  in  itself  true,  still  to  interpret  it 
in  the  best  sense.  But,  if  I  must  needs  be  raking  in  other 
men's  faults,  it  must  not  be  behind  their  backs,  but  before  their 
faces  ;  for,  the  one  is  a  great  sin,  and  the  other  may  be  as 
great  a  duty,  even  to  reprove  my  neighbour  for  doing  any- 
tliing  offensive  unto  God,  or  destructive  to  his  own  soul ;  still 


LADY  RACHEL  RUSSELL.  291 

endeavouring  so  to  manage  the  reproof,   as  to  make  liis  sin 
loathsome  to  him,  and  prevail  upon  him,  if  possible,  to  forsake 
it :  however  there  is  a  great  deal  of  Christian  prudence  and 
discretion  to  be  used  in  this,  lest  others  may  justly  reprove  me 
for  my  indiscreet  reproof  of  others.     I  must  still  fit  my  reproof 
to  the  time  when,  the  person  to  whom,  and  the  sin  against 
which  it  is  designed  :  still  contriving  with  myself  hov7  to  carry 
on  this  duty  so,  as  that  by  "converting  a  sinner  from  the  evil 
of  his  ways,  I  may  save  a  soul  from  death,  and  cover  a  multi- 
tude of  sins  : "  not  venting  my  anger  against  the  person,  but 
my  sorrow  for  the  sin  that  is  reproved.     Hot,  passionate,  and 
resiling  words,  will  not  so  much  exasperate  a  man  against  his 
sin  that  is  reproved,  as  against  the  person  that  doth  reprove  it. 
It  is  "  not  the  wrath  of  man  that  worketh  the  righteousness  of 
God."     But  this,  of  all  duties,  must  be  performed  with  the 
spuit  of  love  and  meekness.     I  must  first  insinuate  myself  into 
his  affections,  and  then  press  his  sin  upon  his  conscience,  and 
that  directly  or  indirectly,  as  the  person,  matter,  or  occasion 
shall  require ;  that  so  he  that  is  reproved  by  me  now,  may 
have  cause  to  bless  God  for  me  to  all  eternity. 

LADY    RACHEL    RUSSELL. 

Lajdy  Each  EL  Wriothesley  was  the  second  daughter  of 
Thomas  Wriothesley,  Earl  of  Southampton.  Her  mother, 
Rachel  de  Rou\igne,  belonged  to  an  ancient  French  Hugonot 
family.  She  was  born  in  1636.  In  1653  she  married  Lord 
Vaughan,  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Carberry,  who  died  twelve 
years  afterwards,  leaving  no  children.  In  1669  she  became 
the  wife  of  Mr,  afterwards  Lord  William  Russell,  with  whom 
her  union  appears  to  have  been  one  of  rare  and  unmingled 
happiness.  But  in  1683,  when  Charles  II.  had  sold  himself 
and  the  country  to  the  King  of  France,  and  obstinately  resisted 
the  measure    for  excluding  from   the   succession  his    Popish 


292  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

brother,  Lord  Russell,  in  concert  with  the  Earl  of  Essex, 
Algernon  Sidney,  and  some  others,  began  to  consult  as  to  the 
measures  needful  for  preserving  the  constitution  and  independ- 
ence of  the  country.  At  the  same  time,  a  wilder  party  was 
plotting  schemes  for  assassinating  the  King  and  the  Duke  of 
York ;  and  their  conspiracy  coming  to  light.  Lord  Russell  and 
his  friends  were  accused  and  condemned  as  accessories.  Lord 
William  was  beheaded  in  Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,  July  21,  1683. 
His  own  demeanour  during  his  trial  and  after  condemnation, 
and  that  of  his  noble  mfe,  are  among  the  redeeming  traits  of 
a  disgraceful  period  of  our  national  annals,  and  the  pulse  of  the 
patriot  beats  with  a  quickened  throb  as  he  reads  the  stoiy  of 
more  than  Roman  fortitude,  sublimed  and  softened  by  a 
tender  love  and  a  blessed  hope,  such  as  the  Roman  never  knew. 

Lady  Rachel  survived  her  husband  forty  years.  She  lived 
to  see,  first,  the  House  of  Orange,  and  eventually,  the  House 
of  Hanover,  seated  on  that  throne  which  Charles  II.  filled  so 
infamously,  and  from  which,  with  almost  equal  infamy,  his 
Popish  brother  absconded.  Her  only  son  was  created  Duke  of 
Bedford ;  her  eldest  daughter  became  Duchess  of  Devonshke, 
and  the  other  Duchess  of  Rutland.  Lady  Rachel  herself  died 
September  29,  1723. 

Of  the  strong  sense  and  firm  nerve  which  Lady  Rachel  re- 
tained through  life,  the  following  little  incident  which  occurred 
at  Southampton  House  in  the  reign  of  King  William  III.,  and 
related  by  herself,  may  serve  as  an  illustration  : — "  As  I  was 
reading  in  my  closet,  the  door  being  bolted,  on  a  sudden  the 
candle  and  candlestick  jumped  off  the  table,  a  hissing  fire  ran 
on  the  floor,  and,  after  a  short  time,  left  some  paper  in  a 
flame,  which  with  my  foot  I  put  into  the  chimney,  to  prevent 
mischief ;  then  sat  down  in  the  dark  to  consider  whence  this 
event  could  come.  I  knew  my  doors  and  windows  were  fast, 
and  there  was  no  way  open  into  the  closet  but  by  the  chimney ; 
and  that  something  should  come  down  there,  and  strike  my 


LADY  EACHEL  RFSSELL.  293 

candle  off  the  table  in  that  strange  manner,  I  believed  impos- 
sible. After  I  had  wearied  myself  with  thinking  to  no  pur- 
pose, I  rang  my  bell ;  the  servant  in  waiting,  when  I  told  him 
what  had  happened,  begged  pardon  for  having,  by  mistake, 
given  me  a  mould  candle,  with  a  gunpowder  squib  in  it,  which 
v,'as  intended  to  make  sport  among  the  fellow-servants  on  a 
rejoicing  day.  I  bid  him  not  be  troubled  at  the  matter,  for  I 
had  no  other  concern  about  it  than  that  of  not  finding  out  the 
cause." 

Dr  Fitzwilliam,  to  whom  the  following  letters  are  addressed, 
had  been  chaplain  to  Lady  Rachel's  father. 

Ecttcrs. 

The  future  part  of  my  life  will  not,  I  expect,  pass  as  perhaps 
I  would  just  choose.  Sense  has  been  long  enough  gratified — 
indeed  so  long,  I  know  not  how  to  live  by  faith ;  yet,  the 
pleasant  stream  that  fed  it  near  fourteen  years  together  being 
gone,  I  have  no  sort  of  refreshment  but  when  I  can  repair  to 
that  living  Fountam  from  whence  all  flows  ;  while  I  look  not 
at  the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  those  which  are  not  seen, 
expecting  that  day  which  will  settle  and  compose  all  my 
tumultuous  thoughts  in  perpetual  peace  and  quiet — but  am 
undone,  irrecoverably  so,  as  to  my  temporal  longings  and  con- 
cerns. Time  runs  on,  and  usually  wears  off  some  of  that 
sharpness  of  thought  inseparable  from  my  circumstances ;  but 
I  cannot  experience  such  an  effect — every  week  making  me 
more  and  more  sensible  of  the  miserable  change  in  my  condi- 
tion. But  the  same  merciful  hand  which  has  held  me  up  from 
sinking  in  the  extremest  calamities,  will,  I  verily  believe,  do 
so  still,  that  I  faint  not  to  the  end  of  this  sharp  conflict,  nor 
add  sin  to  my  grievous  weight  of  sorrows,  by  too  higli  a  dis- 
content, wliich  is  all  I  have  now  to  fear. 

WoBURN  Abbey,  20th  April  1684. 

2b2 


294  PRACTICAL  AND   EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

Good  Doctor, — I  am  sure  my  lieart  is  filled  with  the  obli- 
gation, how  ill  soever  my  words  may  express  it,  for  all  those 
hours  you  have  set  apart  (in  a  busy  life)  for  my  particular 
benefit,  for  the  quieting  my  distracted  thoughts,  and  reducing 
them  to  a  just  measure  of  patience  for  all  I  have  or  can  suffer. 
I  trust  I  shall,  with  diligence  and  some  success,  serve  those 
ends  they  were  designed  to :  they  have  very  punctually,  the 
time  you  intended  them  for,  the  last  two  sheets  coming  to  my 
hands  the  16th  of  this  fatal  month;  'tis  the  21st  completes  my 
three  years  of  true  sorrow,  which  should  be  turned  rather  into 
joy,  as  you  have  laid  it  before  me,  with  reasons  strongly 
maintained,  and  rarely  illustrated.  Sure  he  is  one  of  those 
has  gained  by  a  dismission  from  a  longer  attendance  here : 
while  he  lived,  his  being  pleased,  led  me  to  be  so  too,  and  so 
it  should  do  still;  and  then  my  soul  should  be  filled  of  joy; 
I  should  be  easy  and  cheerful,  but  it  is  sad  and  heavy.  So 
little  do  we  distinguish  hov.^,  and  why  we  love,  to  me  it  argues 
a  prodigious  fondness  of  one's  self;  I  am  impatient  that  is  hid 
from  me  I  took  delight  in,  though  he  knows  much  greater 
than  he  did  here.  All  I  can  say  for  myself  is,  that  while  we 
are  clothed  with  flesh,  to  the  perfectest  some  displeasure  Mill 
attend  a  separation  from  things  we  love.  This  comfort  I  think 
I  have  in  my  affliction,  that  I  can  say,  Unless  Thy  law  had 
been  my  delight,  I  should  have  perished  in  my  trouble.  The 
rising  from  the  dead  is  a  glorious  contemplation,  Doctor — 
nothing  raises  a  drooping  spirit  like  it ;  His  Holy  Spirit  in  the 
meantime,  speaking  peace  to  our  consciences,  and  through  all 
the  gloomy  sadness  of  our  condition,  letting  us  discern  that  we 
belono-  to  the  election  of  grace,  that  our  persons  are  accepted 
and  justified.  But  still  I  will  humble  myself  for  my  own  sins, 
and  those  of  our  families,  that  brought  such  a  day  on  us. 

ISth  July  1686. 

I  can  divine  no  more  than  yourself,  good  Doctor,  why  a 


LADY  EACHEL  EUSSELL.  295 

letter  writ  the  18tli  July,  should  come  to  you  before  one  tliat 
was  writ  the  13th;  they  went  from  hence  in  order,  I  am  very 
sure.  I  answer  yours  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  yet  not  soon 
enough  to  find  you  at  Cottenham,  as  I  guessed;  being,  you 
^^Y)  y^^  intend  to  be  at  Windsor  the  middle  of  September, 
and  the  greatest  part  of  the  interval  at  Hereford,  and  I 
remember  you  have,  in  a  former  letter,  told  me  you  intended 
a  visit  at  Lord  Gainsborough's  :  so  tliat  this  paper  being 
likely  to  be  a  wanderer,  and  so  in  hazard  of  not  coming  to 
you  at  all  it  may  be,  I  will  not  charge  it  with  those  letters 
you  ask  for;  they  are  too  valuable  to  me  to  be  ventured, 
es23ecially  since  mine  loiter  so  by  the  way ;  therefore  I  will  hear 
again  from  you  before  I  send  them,  with  particular  directions 
w^here  they  shall  come  to  you. 

I  read  with  some  contentment,  Doctor,  that  as  either  to 
speak  or  write  a  compliment  would  ill  become  you,  'tis  your 
opinion  my  nature  is  averse  to  be  so  treated.  It  is  so  indeed, 
if  I  know  myself;  and  I  thank  you  for  your  justice  to  me.  I 
have  long  thought  it  the  meanest  inclination  a  man  can  have, 
to  be  very  solicitous  for  the  praise  of  the  world,  especially  if 
the  heart  is  not  pure  before  God.  'Tis  an  unfaithfulness  I 
have  been  afraid  of,  and  do  not  fear  to  say  it  has  often  excited 
me  to  be  what  I  found  good  people  thought  me.  I  do  con- 
fess there  is  a  beauty  in  godliness,  that  draws  our  love  to  those 
we  find  it  in ;  and  it  does  give  me  a  secret  pleasure  to  have 
that  attributed  to  one's  self  that  one  finds  so  charming  in 
another. 

I  am  very  certain,  Doctor,  your  judgm^ent  is  without  error — 
that  the  fastest  cement  of  friendship  is  piety.  One  may  love 
passionately,  but  one  loves  unquietly,  if  the  friend  be  not  a 
good  man ;  and,  w^hen  a  separation  comes,  what  veneration  do 
we  give  to  their  memory  [whom]  we  consider  as  loved  by  God 
from  all  eternity ! 

WoBURN  Abbey,  I2th  August  1636. 


29G  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 


WILLIAM  LAW. 

"  Wlieii  at  Oxford,"  says  Dr  Johnson,  "  I  took  up  Law's 
'  Serious  Call  to  a  Holy  Life,'  expecting  to  find  it  a  dull  book 
(as  such  books  generally  are),  and  perhaps  to  laugh  at  it.  But 
I  found  Law  quite  an  overmatch  for  me;  and  this  was  the 
first  occasion  of  my  thinking  in  earnest  of  religion,  after  I 
became  capable  of  rational  incjuiry.""  The  author  whose 
book  produced  such  deep  impression  on  minds  like  those  of 
Samuel  Johnson  and  the  Wesleys,  was  no  common  man,  and 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  mystical  vagaries  of  his  later 
years,  and  a  certain  deficiency  of  evangelical  statement  in  the 
works  themselves,  have  tended  to  throw  out  of  sight  some  of 
the  most  acute,  eloquent,  and  impressive  treatises  of  the  by- 
gone century. 

William  Law  was  born  at  King's  Cliff e,  Northampton- 
shire, in  1686.  Educated  at  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge, 
and  subsequently  chosen  to  a  fellowship,  he  resigned  it  rather 
than  take  the  oath  of  allegiance.  As  a  non-juror  he  never 
obtained  any  clerical  preferment.  Part  of  his  time  was  spent 
at  Putney,  as  tutor  to  the  ftither  of  the  historian  Gibbon,  and 
the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  he  resided  at  his  native  Cliffe, 
acting  as  a  sort  of  private  chaplain  to  two  elderly  ladies,  one  of 
them  Mrs  Hester  Gibbon,  the  historian's  aunt.  He  died  April 
9,  1761. 

According  to  Gibbon's  testimony,  Mr  Law  "  had  left  in  our 
family  the  reputation  of  a  worthy  and  i)ious  man,  who  believed 
all  that  he  professed,  and  practised  all  that  he  enjoined.  His 
master-work,  the  '  Serious  Call,'  is  still  read  as  a  popular  and 
powerful  book  of  devotion.  His  jDrecepts  are  rigid,  but  they 
are  founded  on  the  gospel ;  his  satire  is  sharp,  bat  it  is  drawn 
from  the  knowledge  of  human  life ;  and  many  of  his  portraits 
are  not  unworthy  of  the  pen  of  La  Bruyere.  If  he  finds  a 
*   "  Croker's  Boswell,"  vol.  i.,  p.  69. 


WILLIAM  LAW.  207 

spark  of  piety  in  liis  reader's  mind,  lie  will  soon  kindle  it  to  a 
flame;  and  a  philosopher  must  allow  that  he  exposes,  with 
equal  severity  and  truth,  the  strange  contradiction  between  the 
faith  and  practice  of  the  Christian  Avorld."'"' 

^  iFatJer's  Counsels. 

Paternus  lived  about  two  hundred  years  ago ;  he  had  but 
one  son  whom  he  educated  himself  in  his  own  house.  As 
they  were  sitting  together  in  the  garden,  when  the  child  was 
ten  years  old,  Paternus  thus  began  to  speak  to  him  : — 

The  little  time  that  you  have  been  in  the  world,  my  child, 
you  have  spent  wholly  with  me ;  and  my  love  and  tenderness 
to  you,  has  made  you  look  upon  me  as  your  only  friend  and 
benefactor,  and  the  cause  of  all  the  comfort  and  pleasure  that 
you  enjoy  :  your  heart,  I  know,  would  be  ready  to  break 
with  grief,  if  you  thought  this  was  the  last  day  I  should  live 
with  you. 

But,  my  child,  though  you  now  think  yourself  mighty 
happy,  because  you  have  hold  of  my  hand,  you  are  now  in  the 
hands,  and  under  the  tender  care  of  a  much  greater  Father 
and  Friend  than  I  am,  whose  love  to  you  is  far  greater  than 
mine,  and  from  whom  you  receive  such  blessings  as  no  mortal 
can  give. 

That  God  whom  you  have  seen  me  daily  worship ;  whom  I 
daily  call  upon  to  bless  both  you  and  me  and  all  mankind  ; 
whose  wondrous  acts  are  recorded  in  those  Scriptures  which 
you  constantly  read :  that  God  who  created  the  heavens  and 
the  earth ;  who  brought  a  flood  upon  the  old  world ;  who  saved 
Noah  in  the  ark ;  who  was  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and 
Jacob;  whom  Job  blessed  and  praised  in  the  greatest  afllic- 
tions;  who  delivered  the  Israelites  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
Egyptians ;  who  was  the  Protector  of  righteous  Joseph,  Moses, 
*  ''Memoir  of  E.  Gibbon"  (1830),  vol.  i.,  p.  17. 


298 


PEACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 


Joshua,  and  holy  Daniel ;  who  sent  so  many  prophets  into  the 
world ;  who  sent  His  Son  Jesus  Christ  to  redeem  mankind : 
this  God,  who  has  done  all  these  great  things ;  who  had 
created  so  many  millions  of  men ;  who  lived  and  died  before 
you  was  born,  vdih  whom  the  spirits  of  good  men,  that  are 
departed  this  life,  now  live;  whom  infinite  numbers  of  angels 
now  worship  in  heaven :  this  great  God,  who  is  the  Creator  of 
worlds,  of  angels,  and  men,  is  your  loving  Father  and  Friend, 
your  good  Creator  and  Nourisher,  from  whom,  and  not  from 
me,  you  received  your  being  ten  years  ago,  at  the  time  that  I 
planted  that  little  tender  elm  which  joii  there  see. 

I  myself  am  not  half  the  age  of  this  shady  oak  under  which 
we  sit;  many  of  our  fathers  have  sat  under  its  boughs;  we 
have  all  of  us  called  it  ours  in  our  turn,  though  it  stands,  and 
drops  its  masters,  as  it  drops  its  leaves. 

You  see,  my  son,  this  wide  and  large  firmament  over  our 
heads,  where  the  sun  and  moon  and  all  the  stars  appear  in 
their  turns.  If  you  was  to  be  carried  up  to  any  of  these 
bodies  at  this  vast  distance  from  us,  you  would  still  discover 
others  as  much  above  you,  as  the  stars  that  you  see  here  are 
above  the  earth.  Were  you  to  go  up  or  dowii,  east  or  west, 
north  or  south,  you  would  find  the  same  height  without  any 
top,  and  the  same  depth  without  any  bottom. 

And  yet,  my  child,  so  great  is  God,  that  all  these  bodies 
added  together  are  but  as  a  grain  of  sand  in  His  sight.  And 
yet  you  are  as  much  the  care  of  this  great  God  and  Father  of 
all  worlds,  and  all  spirits,  as  if  He  had  no  son  but  you,  or 
there  were  no  creature  for  Him  to  love  and  protect  but  you 
alone.  He  numbers  the  hairs  of  your  head,  watches  over  you 
sleeping  and  waking,  and  has  preserved  you  from  a  thousand 
dangers,  which  neither  you  nor  I  know  anything  of. 

How  poor  my  power  is,  and  how  little  I  am  able  to  do  for 
you,  you  have  often  seen.  Your  late  sickness  has  shewn  you 
how  little  I  could  do  for  you  in  that  state ;  and  the  frecj[uent 


AVILLIAM  LAW.  299 

pains  of  your  head  are  plain  proofs  that  I  have  no  power  to 
remove  them. 

I  can  brmg  yoii  food  and  medicines,  but  have  no  power  to 
turn  them  into  your  relief  and  nourishment;  it  is  God  alone 
that  can  do  this  for  you. 

Therefore,  my  child,  fear,  and  worship,  and  love  God. 
Your  eyes  indeed  cannot  yet  see  Him,  but  all  the  things  you 
see  are  so  many  marks  of  His  power  and  presence,  that  He 
is  nearer  to  you  than  anything  that  you  can  see. 

Take  Him  for  your  Lord,  and  Father,  and  Friend ;  look  up 
to  Him  as  the  fountain  and  cause  of  all  the  good  that  you 
have  received  through  my  hands;  and  reverence  me  only  as 
the  bearer  and  minister  of  God's  good  things  unto  you :  and 
He  that  blessed  my  father  before  I  was  born,  will  bless  you 
when  I  am  dead. 

Your  youth  and  little  mind  is  only  yet  acquainted  with  my 
family,  and  therefore  you  think  there  is  no  haj^piness  out  of  it. 

But,  my  child,  you  belong  to  a  greater  family  than  mine ; 
you  are  a  younger  member  of  the  family  of  this  Almighty 
Father  of  all  nations,  who  has  created  infinite  orders  of  angels, 
and  numberless  generations  of  men,  to  be  fellow-members  of 
one  and  the  same  society  in  heaven. 

You  do  well  to  reverence  my  authority,  because  God  has 
given  me  power  over  you,  to  bring  you  up  in  His  fear,  and  to 
do  for  you,  as  the  holy  fathers  recorded  in  Scripture  did  for 
their  children,  who  are  now  in  rest  and  peace  with  God. 

I  shall  in  a  short  time  die,  and  leave  you  to  God  and  your- 
self; and  if  God  forgiveth  my  sins,  I  shall  go  to  His  Son  Jesus 
Christ,  and  live  amongst  patriarchs  and  prophets,  saints  and 
martyrs,  where  I  shall  pray  for  you,  and  hope  for  your  safe 
arrival  at  the  same  place. 

Therefore,  my  child,  meditate  on  these  great  things,  and 
your  soul  will  soon  grow  great  and  noble  by  so  meditating 
upon  them. 


300  rRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

Let  your  thouglits  often  leave  these  gardens,  and  fields,  and 
farms,  to  contemplate  uj)on  God  and  heaven,  to  consider 
angels  and  the  spirits  of  good  men  living  in  light  and  glory. 

As  you  have  been  used  to  look  to  me  in  all  your  actions, 
and  have  been  afraid  to  do  anything,  unless  you  first  knew  my 
will;  so  let  it  now  be  a  rule  of  your  life,  to  look  up  to  God 
in  all  your  actions,  to  do  everything  in  His  fear,  and  to  abstain 
from  everj^thing  that  is  not  according  to  His  will. 

Bear  Him  always  in  your  mind;  teach  your  thoughts  to 
reverence  Him  in  every  place,  for  there  is  no  place  where  He 
is  not. 

God  keepeth  a  book  of  life,  wherein  the  actions  of  all  men 
are  written;  your  name  is  there,  my  child;  and  when  you 
die,  this  book  will  be  laid  open  before  men  and  angels,  and 
according  as  your  actions  are  there  found,  you  will  either  be 
received  to  the  happiness  of  those  holy  men  who  have  died 
before  you,  or  be  turned  away  amongst  wicked  spirits  that  are 
never  to  see  God  any  more. 

Never  forget  this  book,  my  son;  for  it  is  written,  it  must 
be  opened,  you  must  see  it,  and  you  must  be  tried  by  it. 
Strive  therefore  to  fill  it  with  your  good  deeds,  that  the  hand- 
writing of  God  may  not  appear  against  you. 

God,  m.y  child,  is  all  love,  and  wisdom,  and  goodness;  and 
everything  that  He  has  made,  and  every  action  that  He  does, 
is  the  eff"ect  of  them  all.  Therefore  you  cannot  please  God,  but 
so  far  as  you  strive  to  walk  in  love,  ^dsdom,  and  goodness.  As 
all  wisdom,  love,  and  goodness  proceeds  from  God ;  so  nothing 
but  love,  wisdom,  and  goodness  can  lead  to  God. 

When  you  love  that  which  God  loves,  you  act  with  Him, 
you  join  yourself  to  Him;  and  when  you  love  what  He  dis- 
likes, then  you  oppose  Him,  and  separate  yourself  from  Him. 
This  is  the  true  and  the  right  way;  think  what  God  loves,  and 
do  you  love  it  with  all  your  heart. 

First  of  all,  my  child,  worship  and  adore  God,  think  of  Him 


WILLIAM  LAW.  301 

magnificently,  speak  of  Him  reverently,  magnify  His  provi- 
dence, adore  His  power,  frec|uent  His  service,  and  pray  nnto 
Him  constantly. 

Next  to  tliis,  love  your  neighbour,  which  is  all  mankind, 
with  such  tenderness  and  affection  as  you  love  yourself.  Think 
how  God  loves  all  mankind,  how  merciful  He  is  to  them,  how 
tender  He  is  of  them,  how  carefully  He  preserves  them,  and  then 
strive  to  love  the  world  as  God  loves  it. 

God  would  have  all  men  to  be  happy,  therefore  do  you  will 
and  desire  the  same.  All  men  are  great  instances  of  Divine 
love,  therefore  let  all  men  be  instances  of  your  love. 

But  above  all,  my  son,  mark  this  ;  never  do  anything  through 
strife,  or  envy,  or  emulation,  or  vainglory.  Never  do  any- 
thing in  order  to  excel  other  people,  but  in  order  to  please 
God,  and  because  it  is  His  will,  that  you  should  do  everything 
in  the  best  manner  that  you  can. 

For  if  it  is  once  a  pleasure  to  you  to  excel  other  people,  it 
will  by  degrees  be  a  pleasure  to  you,  to  see  other  people  not  so 
good  as  yourself. 

Banish  therefore  every  thought  of  pride  and  distinction,  and 
accustom  yourself  to  rejoice  in  all  the  excellencies  and  perfec- 
tions of  your  fellow-creatures,  and  be  as  glad  to  see  any  of  their 
good  actions  as  your  own. 

For  as  God  is  as  well  pleased  with  their  well-doings,  as  with 
yours ;  so  you  ought  to  desire,  that  everything  that  is  wise, 
and  holy,  and  good,  may  be  performed  in  as  high  a  manner  by 
other  people,  as  by  yourself. 

Let  this  therefore  be  your  only  motive  to  all  good  actions,  to 
do  everything  in  as  perfect  a  manner  as  you  can ;  for  this  only 
reason,  because  it  is  pleasing  to  God,  who  writes  all  your  actions 
in  a  book.  When  I  am  dead,  my  son,  you  will  be  master  of 
all  my  estate,  which  will  be  a  great  deal  more  than  the  neces- 
sities of  one  family  require.  Therefore  as  you  are  to  be  charit- 
able to  the  souls  of  men,  and  wish  them  the  same  happiness 
VOL.  IV.  2  c 


302  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

witli  you  in  heaven ;  so  be  charitable  to  their  bodies,  and  en- 
deavour to  make  them  as  happy  as  you  upon  earth. 

As  God  has  created  all  things  for  the  common  good  of  all 
men  j  so  let  that  part  of  them,  which  is  fallen  to  your  share, 
be  employed,  as  God  would  have  all  employed,  for  the  common 
good  of  all. 

Do  good,  my  son,  first  of  all  to  those  that  most  deserve  it, 
but  remember  to  do  good  to  all.  The  greatest  sinners  receive 
daily  instances  of  God's  goodness  towards  them  ;  He  nourishes 
and  preserves  them,  that  they  may  repent,  and  return  to  Him ; 
do  you  therefore  imitate  God,  and  think  no  one  too  bad  to  re- 
ceive your  relief  and  kindness,  when  you  see  that  he  wants  it. 

I  am  teaching  you  Latin  and  Greek,  not  that  you  should 
desire  to  be  a  great  critic,  a  fine  poet,  or  an  eloquent  orator.  I 
would  not  have  your  heart  feel  any  of  these  desires ;  for  the 
desii-e  of  these  accomplishments  is  a  vanity  of  the  mind,  and 
the  masters  of  them  are  generally  vain  men. 

But  I  teach  you  these  languages,  that  at  proper  times  you 
may  look  into  the  history  of  past  ages,  and  learn  the  method  of 
God's  Providence  over  the  world  :  that  reading  the  writings  of 
the  ancient  sages,  you  may  see  how  wisdom  and  vii-tue  have 
been  the  praise  of  great  men  of  all  ages,  and  fortify  your  mind 
by  their  wise  sayings. 

Let  truth  and  plainness  therefore  be  the  only  ornament  of 
your  language,  and  study  nothing  but  how  to  think  of  all 
things  as  they  deserve,  to  choose  everything  that  is  best,  to 
live  according  to  reason  and  order,  and  to  act  in  every  part  of 
your  life  in  conformity  to  the  will  of  God. 

fStudy  how  to  fill  your  heart  full  of  the  love  of  God,  and  the 
love  of  your  neighbour,  and  then  be  content  to  be  no  deeper  a 
scholar,  no  finer  a  gentleman,  than  these  temj^ers  will  make 
you.  As  true  religion  is  nothing  else  but  simple  nature  go- 
verned by  right  reason ;  so  it  loves  and  requires  great  plainness 
and  simplicity  of  life.     Therefore  avoid  all  superfluous  shows, 


WILLIAM  LAW.  303 

finery,  and  equipage,  and  let  your  house  be  plainly  furnished 
with  moderate  conveniencies.  Do  not  consider  what  your 
estate  can  afford,  but  what  right  reason  requires. 

Let  your  dress  be  sober,  clean,  and  modest ;  not  to  set  out 
the  beauty  of  your  person,  but  to  declare  the  sobriety  of  your 
mind,  that  your  outward  garb  may  resemble  the  plainness  of 
your  heart.  For  it  is  highly  reasonable,  that  you  should  be 
one  man,  all  of  a  piece,  and  appear  outwardly  such  as  you  are 
inwardly. 

As  to  your  meat  and  drink,  in  them  observe  the  highest  rules 
of  Christian  temperance  and  sobriety  :  consider  your  body  only 
as  the  servant  of  your  soul ;  and  only  so  nourish  it,  as  it  may 
best  perform  an  humble  and  obedient  service  to  it. 

But,  my  son,  observe  this  as  a  most  princij^al  thing,  which  I 
shall  remember  you  of  as  long  as  I  live  : 

Hate  and  despise  all  human  glory,  for  it  is  nothing  else  but 
human  folly.  It  is  the  greatest  snare,  and  the  greatest  betrayer, 
that  you  can  possibly  admit  into  your  heart. 

Let  every  day  therefore  be  a  day  of  humility,  condescend  to  all 
the  weakness  and  infirmities  of  your  fellow- creatures,  cover 
their  frailties,  love  their  excellencies,  encourage  their  virtues, 
relieve  their  wants,  rejoice  in  their  prosperities,  compassionate 
their  distress,  receive  their  friendship,  overlook  their  unkind- 
ness,  forgive  their  malice,  be  a  servant  of  servants,  and  conde- 
scend to  do  the  lowest  offices  to  the  lowest  of  mankind. 

Aspire  after  nothing  but  your  own  purity  and  perfection,  and 
have  no  ambition  but  to  do  everytliing  in  so  reasonable  and 
religious  a  manner,  that  you  may  be  glad  that  God  is  every- 
where present,  and  sees  all  your  actions.  The  greatest  trial  of 
humility  is  an  humble  behaviour  towards  your  equals  in  age, 
estate,  and  condition  of  life.  Therefore,  be  careful  of  all  the 
motions  of  your  heart  towards  these  people.  Let  all  your 
behaviour  towards  them  be  governed  by  unfeigned  love.  Have 
no  desire  to  put  any  of  your  equals  below  you,  nor  any  anger 


304  rRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WEITEES. 

at  those  that  would  put  themselves  above  you.  If  they  are 
proud,  they  are  ill  of  a  very  bad  distemper ;  let  them  there- 
fore have  your  tender  pity,  and  perhaps  your  meekness  may 
prove  an  occasion  of  their  cure ;  but  if  your  humility  should 
do  them  no  good,  it  vnll  however  be  the  greatest  good  to 
yourself. 

Eemember  that  there  is  but  one  man  in  the  world,  with 
whom  you  are  to  have  perpetual  contention,  and  be  always 
striving  to  exceed  him,  and  that  is  yourself. 

The  time  of  practising  these  precepts,  my  child,  will  soon  be 
over  with  you ;  the  world  will  soon  slip  through  your  hands,  or 
rather  you  will  soon  slip  through  it ;  it  seems  but  the  other  day 
since  I  received  these  same  instructions  from  my  dear  father, 
that  I  am  now  leaving  \\dth  you.  And  the  God  that  gave  me 
ears  to  hear,  and  a  heart  to  receive  what  my  father  said  unto 
me,  will,  I  hope,  give  you  grace  to  love  and  follow  the  same  in- 
structions. 

BISHOP  HOENE. 

Like  Beveridge,  Geoege  Hoene  was  the  son  of  a  clergy- 
man. His  father  was  rector  of  Otham,  near  Maidstone,  in 
Kent,  and  there  he  was  born,  November  1,  1730.  He  had  a 
very  happy  childhood.  His  fiither,  a  man  of  remarkably  mild 
and  gentle  dispositions,  was  fond  of  music,  and  when  his  son 
was  an  infont,  he  used  to  awake  him  by  playing  on  a  flute ; 
no  wonder  that  George  carried  through  life  a  love  of  music,  and 
an  affectionate  veneration  for  his  ftither's  memory. 

As  a  student  of  University  College,  Oxford,  Home  became 
a  good  general  scholar,  as  well  as  a  zealous  disciple  of  Hut- 
chinson. The  best  of  his  theology  he  derived  from  the  two 
folios  of  Leslie,  the  author  of  "  A  Short  and  Easy  Method 
with  the  Deists;"  and  from  the  writings  of  William  Law  his 
piety  received  an  intense  and  elevating  impulse.  To  his  sus- 
ceptible temperament  there  was  a  great  charm  in  an  author- 


BISHOP  HORNE.  305 

ship  so  ingenious,  so  original,  and  so  earnest  as  Law  and 
Hutchinson  ;  but  in  Home  there  was  an  amount  of  good  taste 
and  sober  judgment  which  saved  him  from  the  extravagances 
of  Behmenism,  and  of  those  who  sought  to  make  a  "  Prin- 
ci^Dia"  of  the  Bible. 

He  was  early  elected  a  fellow  of  ]\Iagdalen  College,  of  which 
he  became  eventually  president,  and  shortly  before  the  close  of 
his  life  he  was  appointed  BishojD  of  Norwich.  He  died  at 
Bath,  January  17,  1792. 

Bishop  Home  spent  twenty  years  preparing  his  "  Commen- 
tary on  the  Book  of  Psalms," '"'  and  his  devout  painstaking  has 
resulted  in  a  work  of  imperishable  value.  Much  more  learned 
than  it  looks,  it  displays  no  pedantry  to  weary  or  repel  the 
ordinary  reader,  whilst  its  warm  devotional  feeling,  its  beauti- 
ftd  but  natural  and  unforced  reflections,  and  its  exquisite 
language  have  made  it  one  of  the  dearest  companions  of  Chris- 
tian retirement  for  the  last  two  generations. 

Cje  Psalntg  of  ©abitr. 

Let  us  stop  for  a  moment,  to  contemplate  the  true  character 
of  these  sacred  hymns. 

Greatness  confers  no  exemption  from  the  cares  and  sorrows 
of  life.  Its  share  of  them  frequently  bears  a  melancholy  pro- 
portion to  its  exaltation.  This  the  Israelitish  monarch  expe- 
rienced. He  sought  in  piety  that  peace  which  he  could  not 
find  in  empire,  and  alle\iated  the  disquietudes  of  state  mth 
the  exercises  of  devotion. 

His  invaluable  Psalms  convey  those  comforts  to  others  which 
they  afforded  to  himself.  Composed  upon  particular  occasions, 
yet  designed  for  general  use ;  delivered  out  as  services  for 
Israelites  under  the  law,  yet  no  less  adapted  to  the  circum- 
stances of  Christians  under  the  gospel ;  they  present  religion 

*  Life  of  Ilorne,  by  W.  Jones,  p.  121. 
2  c  2 


306       PRACTICAL  AND  EXrERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

to  US  in  the  most  engaging  dress  ;  communicating  truths  which 
l^hilosophy  could  never  investigate,  in  a  style  which  poetry  can 
never  equal ;  while  history  is  made  the  vehicle  of  prophecy, 
and  creation  lends  all  its  charms  to  paint  the  glories  of  redemp- 
tion. Calculated  alike  to  profit  and  to  please,  they  inform  the 
understanding,  elevate  the  affections,  and  entertain  the  imagi- 
nation. Indited,  under  the  influence  of  Him  to  whom  all 
hearts  are  known,  and  all  events  foreknown,  they  suit  man- 
kind in  all  situations,  grateful  as  the  manna  which  descended 
from  above,  and  conformed  itself  to  every  palate.  The  fairest 
productions  of  human  wit,  after  a  few  perusals,  like  gathered 
flowers,  wither  in  our  hands,  and  lose  their  fragrancy ;  but 
these  unfading  plants  of  paradise  become,  as  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  them,  still  more  and  more  beautiful ;  their  bloom 
appears  to  be  daily  heightened ;  fresh  odours  are  emitted,  and 
new  sweets  extracted  from  them.  He  who  hath  once  tasted 
their  excellencies,  will  desire  to  taste  them  yet  again ;  and  he 
who  tastes  them  oftenest  will  relish  them  best. 

And  now,  could  the  author  flatter  himself  that  any  one 
would  take  half  the  pleasure  in  reading  the  following  exposi- 
tion which  he  hath  taken  in  writing  it,  he  would  not  fear  the 
loss  of  his  labour.  The  employment  detached  him  from  the 
bustle  and  hurry  of  life,  the  din  of  politics,  and  the  noise  of 
folly ;  vanity  and  vexation  flew  away  for  a  season,  care  and 
disquietude  came  not  near  his  dwelling.  He  arose  fresh  as 
the  morning  to  bis  task ;  the  silence  of  the  night  invited  him 
to  pursue  it ;  and  he  can  truly  say,  that  food  and  rest  were  not 
preferred  before  it.  Every  psalm  improved  infinitely  upon  his 
acquaintance  with  it,  and  no  one  gave  him  uneasiness  but  the 
last ;  for  then  he  giieved  that  his  work  was  done.  Hai^pier 
hours  than  those  which  have  been  spent  on  these  meditations 
on  the  Songs  of  Sion,  he  never  expects  to  see  in  this  world. 
Very  pleasantly  did  they  pass,  and  moved  smoothly  and  swiftly 
along :  for  when  thus  engaged,  he  counted  no  time.     They 


EEV.  H.  VENN".  307 

are  gone,  but  have  left  a  relish  and  a  fragrance  upon  the  mind, 
and  the  remembrance  of  them  is  sweet. 


HENRY  VENN. 

Few  biographies  are  more  delightful  and  edifying  than  the 
life  of  the  wise,  faithful,  and  eminent  rector  of  Yelling.  From 
its  Images  we  extract  two  characteristic  letters. 

SLife  in  tjjc  ^  arson  nrje. 

You  tell  me  you  have  no  idea  how  we  go  on.  Take  the 
following  sketch.  I  am  up  one  of  the  first  in  the  house,  soon 
after  five  o'clock ;  and  when  prayer  and  reading  the  blessed 
Word  is  done,  my  daughters  make  their  appearance ;  and  I 
teach  them  till  Mrs  Venn  comes  down,  at  half-past  eight. 
Then  family  prayer  begins,  which  is  often  very  sweet,  as  my 
mother's  maid,  and  my  own  servants,  are  all,  I  believe,  born  of 
God.  The  children  begin  to  sing  prettily,  and  our  praises,  I 
trust,  are  heard  on  high.  From  breakfast,  we  are  all  em- 
ployed, till  we  ride  out,  in  fine  weather,  two  hours  for  health ; 
and  after  dinner  employed  again.  At  six,  I  have  always  one 
hour  for  solemn  meditation  and  walking^"'  in  my  house,  till 
seven.  We  have  then,  sometimes  twenty,  sometimes  more  or 
less,  of  the  people,  to  whom  I  expound  the  Word  of  the 
blessed  God  :  several  appear  much  affected ;  and  sometimes 
Jesus  stands  in  the  midst,  and  saith,  "  Peace  be  unto  you  !" 
Our  devotions  end  at  eight :  we  sup,  and  go  to  rest  at  ten. 
On  Sundays,  I  am  still  enabled  to  speak  six  hours,  at  three 
different  times,  to  my  own  great  surprise.  O  the  goodness  of 
God,  in  raising  me  up  ! 

*  It  was  Mr  Venn's  habit  to  engage  in  devotional  exercises  of  meditation 
and  prayer  during  this  hour,  whilst  walking  alone,  either  in  a  large  rcom  of 
the  house,  or  sometimes  in  the  church. 


308  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

Hctter  to  a  Qaucjl^tcr, 

Yelling,  JiOy  14,  1734. 

My  dear  Jane, — Yesterday  jowy  welcome  letter  arrived ; 
and  we  all,  as  you  conclude,  unite  in  praising  our  God,  who 
liears  our  prayers,  and  is  richly  deserving  our  love,  for  His 
benefits  bestowed  upon  us  in  this  world,  even  of  a  temporal 
nature.  The  natural  man  loses  the  sweetest  part  of  enjopnent, 
even  of  the  only  things  he  can  enjoy.  He  eats  and  drinks, 
and  feasts  upon  the  creature,  as  a  brute,  not  knowing  from 
whence  it  comes.  If  his  pleasure  and  comfort  are  in  a  tender 
and  beloved  wife,  an  amiable  child,  or  affectionate  friend — the 
wife,  or  child,  or  friend,  is  all.  A  true  Christian,  on  the  con- 
trary, enjoys  the  gift  more  richly,  as  a  gift  from  his  bountiful 
God.  "  Tliis  excellent  woman,  so  beloved  by  me,"  he  says, 
"  the  Ijord  found  out  and  bestowed  upon  me.  This  pleasant 
child,  who  gives  me  growing  delight,  is  a  plant  of  His  plant- 
ing. Care,  in  education,  would  have  been  fruitless,  had  not 
His  grace  crowned  it  mth  success." 

I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  are  led  to  be  thankful,  and  to  re- 
ceive, with  thanksgi\ing  to  our  blessed  God,  His  tender  pro- 
tection. By  returning  praise  for  the  daily  favours  we  receive, 
we  shall  acquire  a  habit  of  thankfulness,  which  is  pleasing  and 
honourable  to  God,  comfort  to  the  mind,  and  health  to  the 
body  in  most  cases ;  for  a  cheerful  heart  doeth  good,  like  a 
medicine. 

Such  improvement  my  beloved  daughter  is  enabled,  glory 
be  to  God,  to  make  of  temporal  blessings.  Yet  these  only 
lead  the  way  to,  and  prepare  the  mind  to  be  the  more  affected 
with,  the  spiritual  blessings  we  enjoy.  What  cause  have  all 
those  to  break  out  in  holy  joy,  who  have  a  heart  given  them 
to  seek  after  God,  to  desire  restoration  to  the  jjroper  state  of 
an  immortal  creature — a  state  of  love  to  his  Maker,  of  entire 
dependence  upon  Him,  of  union  of  will  with  Him,  of  delight 


EEV.  H.  VENN.  309 

ill  His  name,  of  an  al3iding  supreme  desire  to  please  Him  in 
our  place  and  station  !  What  cause  to  sing  with  joy,  that  the 
certain  possession  of  these  tempers  is  gained  by  the  know- 
ledge of  God  manifest  in  the  flesh  : — for  there,  love,  beyond 
everything  seen  or  known  by  men  or  angels,  is  displayed  ! 
"  My  God,"  the  believer  says,  "  who  hast  lived,  and  laboured, 
and  fought,  and  been  wounded,  and  slain,  in  getting  life  and 
salvation  for  me — how  shall  I  thank  Thee  with  becoming 
ardour  !  how  shall  I  love  Thee  as  I  ought  ! — I  am  Thine  ! 
Oh,  save  me  from  ever  grieving  Thee,  by  forgetting  my  im- 
mense debt  to  Thee  ! " 

Such  aspirations  as  these,  souls  which  are  born  from  above, 
at  times,  feel ;  though  the  best  are  often  dull,  and  stupid,  and 
cold,  to  astonishment,  in  this  matter.  When  you  find  your 
precious  soul  in  this  unbecoming  frame  towards  your  God  and 
Saviour,  be  not  discouraged,  much  less  call  in  question  your 
faith,  but  confess,  frankly,  your  corruption,  and  enlarge  upon 
it,  and  then  humbly  beg  :  "  Quicken  me,  O  Lord,  according  to 
Thy  word — according  to  Thy  loving-kindness  !  I  should  never 
have  had  one  thought  of  gratitude  and  love,  hadst  Thou  not 
excited  it  in  me  1  Hast  Thou  begun  to  restore  my  soul,  and 
wilt  Thou  not  carry  on  the  work  ?  That  be  far  from  Thee  1" 
Such  humble  expostulations  are  pleasing  to  the  Lord,  and  not 
without  success. 

The  very  same  thunder-storm  you  were  in,  reached,  in  great 
violence,  to  Orlingbury.  It  is  good  to  be  above  fear  that 
"hath  torment,"  in  such  awful  weather.  Christians  should 
labour  much  not  to  fear,  as  men  without  God  have  cause  to 
do.  And  if  fear  of  death  makes  us  dismayed  at  the  storm, 
we  ought  to  examine  whence  that  fear  arises,  and  not  rest,  till 
we  can  say,  "  Death  is  ours."  It  is  but  a  bad  return  for  all 
His  precious  promises — and  love  stronger  than  death,  which 
Christ  has  had  for  us — to  tremble  and  quake,  in  case  He 
should  take  us  to  Himself.     I  grant  that  our  nerves  are  soon 


310  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPEEIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

shaken,  but  our  God  has  access  to  our  spirits,  and  can 
strengthen  us,  and  give  us  firmness ;  and  will,  when  we  pray- 
to  Him,  that  for  the  credit  of  our  faith  in  His  name,  we  may 
not  fear  for  the  body,  but  sanctify  the  Lord  God  in  our  hearts, 
and  let  Him  be  our  fear,  and  let  Him  be  our  dread.  Wishing 
you  much  of  His  presence,  much  more  knowledge,  and  faith, 
and  love,  and  every  divine  temper — and  often,  every  day, 
thinking  of  you — with  kind  love  from  your  dear  mamma,  I 
remain  your  affectionate  father, 

H.  Yexx. 


P.S. — ^Yhat  is  this  ?  All  this  a  postscript !  Why,  it  is 
almost  as  long  as  the  long  letter  ! — So  it  is.  And  all  this 
postscript  is,  to  inform  you,  and  your  dear  fellow  travellers, 
how  it  fared  wdth  me  after  we  parted,  and  of  several  other 
particulars  in  the  way  of  conversation.  Charming  was  the 
summer's  breeze,  and  nothing,  in  my  way  to  Kettermg,  to 
interrui:)t  my  most  serious  thoughts  on  the  constitution  of 
things  here,  plainly  concurring,  with  the  Word  of  God,  to 
prove  that  "  this  is  not  our  rest."  Friends  who  are  most 
happy  in  each  other,  and  tender  relations,  are  not  long  to- 
gether ;  their  interviews  are  soon  at  an  end.  How  is  the  mind 
relieved  by  particular  prayer  for  them,  and  lively  hope  of  their 
safety,  being  interested  in  the  great  salvation  of  God  !  With 
thoughts  of  this  kind,  and  prayer,  and  singing,  I  reached  my 
destination.  No  sooner  was  I  come  to  Orlinbury,  than  Mr  and 
Mrs  Scott  from  Olney  (who  were  visiting  in  the  parish)  came 
in  ;  and  very  glad  we  were  to  meet.  He  is  a  man  of  right 
spirit,  always  about  his  Master's  business ;  and  has  a  tongue 
given  him,  which  is  "  a  well  of  life,"  always  ministering  grace 
to  the  hearers.  One  hour  ^vas  all  the  time  we  could  spend  to- 
gether ;  and  then  he  engaged  me  to  make  an  exchange  on  the 
last  Sunday  in  August,  God  willing. 

Kitty  sets  out  well.     James  M.    sent  for  medicine  for  his 


EEV.  JOHN  NEWTON.  311 

Avife,  who  has  a  fever.  Kitty  desired,  immediately,  she  might 
walk  over  to  see  the  patient ;  for  she  could  not  otherwise  tell 
what  to  prescribe.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  her  tread  in  your 
steps.  Oh,  may  we  all  love  the  poor  more,  and  study  to  help 
them,  and  not  fear  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise  !  I  paid  J. 
Peters  her  eight  shillings ;  and  she  gets  into  her  little  house 
this  day.  She  went  away  from  the  parsonage  rejoicmg.  A 
parsonage  should  be  a  place  of  refuge — a  house  of  mercy.  The 
ver>^  sight  of  it  should  be  pleasing  to  the  poor  and  desolate. 
Prayer,  to  be  helped,  and  enabled  to  help  the  poor,  will  be 
answered  ; — and  such  aid,  so  obtained,  is  matter  of  great  thank- 
fulness. 

JOHN  NEWTON. 

To  this  father  of  many  faithful, — so  quaint,  so  kind,  so 
shrewd, — our  readers  have  already  been  introduced.'''  His 
sermons  are  not  remarkable,  and  his  volume  of  Church  History 
is  inferior  to  Milner ;  but  "  his  letters  are  weighty,"  and  few 
hymns  are  more  endeared  than 

'•How  sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds," 
and  some  others  which  he  added  to  the  Ohiey  collection. 


^' Whatsoever 'tilings  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report, — 
think  on  these  things."— Phil.  iv.  8, 

Dear  Sir, — The  precept  wliich  I  have  chosen  for  my  motto 
is  appHcable  to  many  particulars,  which  are  but  seldom  and 
occasionally  mentioned  from  the  pulpit.  There  are  improprie- 
ties of  conduct,  which,  though  usually  considered  as  foibles 

*  Christian  Classics,  vol.  iv.  p.  250. 
t  From  *'  Letters  by  Oinicron,"  &c. 


312  rRx\CTICAL  AND  EXPEKIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

that  hardly  deserve  a  severe  censure^  are  properly  sinful ;  for 
though  some  of  them  may  not  seem  to  violate  any  exj)ress 
command  of  Scripture,  yet  they  are  contrary  to  that  accuracy 
and  circumspection  which  become  our  profession.  A  Christian, 
by  the  tenor  of  his  high  calling,  is  bound  to  avoid  even  the 
appearance  of  evil ;  and  his  deportment  should  not  only  be  \i^~ 
right  as  to  his  leading  principles,  but  amiable  and  engaging, 
and  as  free  as  possible  from  every  inconsistence  and  blemish. 
The  characters  of  some  valuable  persons  are  clouded ;  and  the 
influence  they  might  otherwise  have,  greatly  counteracted  by 
comparatively  small  faults  :  yet  faults  they  certainly  are;  and  it 
would  be  well  if  they  could  be  made  so  sensible  of  them,  and  of 
their  ill  effects,  as  that  they  might  earnestly  watch,  and  strive, 
and  pray  against  them.  I  know  not  how  to  explain  mj'self  better 
than  by  attempting  the  outlines  of  a  few  portraits,  to  each  of 
which  I  apprehend  some  strong  resemblances  may  be  found  in 
real  life.  I  do  not  wish  to  set  my  readers  to  work  to  find  out 
such  resemblances  among  their  neighbours;  but  would  advise 
them  to  examine  carefully,  Avhethcr  they  cannot,  in  one  or  other 
of  them,  discover  some  traces  of  their  own  features :  and  though 
I  speak  of  men  only,  counterparts  to  the  several  characters 
may  doubtless  be  found  here  and  there  among  the  women ;  for 
the  imperfections  and  evils  of  a  fallen  nature  are  equally  en- 
tailed upon  both  sexes. 

Austerus  is  a  solid  and  exemplary  Christian.  He  has  a 
deep,  extensive,  and  experimental  knowledge  of  divine  things. 
Inflexibly  and  invariably  true  to  his  iDrinciples,  he  stems  with 
a  noble  singularity  the  torrent  of  the  world,  and  can  neither  be 
bribed  nor  intimidated  from  the  path  of  duty.  He  is  a  rough 
diamond  of  great  intrinsic  value,  and  would  sparkle  vnth  a  dis- 
tinguished lustre  if  he  were  more  polished:  but  though  the 
"Word  of  God  is  his  daily  study,  and  he  prizes  the  precepts,  as 
well  as  the  promises,  more  than  thousands  of  gold  and  silver, 
there  is  one  precept  he  seems  to  have  overlooked;  I  mean  that 


HUMAN  US.  313 

of  the  apostle,  "  Be  courteous."  Instead  of  tliat  gentleness  and 
condescension  which  will  always  be  expected  from  a  professed 
follower  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus,  there  is  a  harshness  in 
his  manner  which  makes  him  more  admired  than  beloved; 
and  they  who  truly  love  him,  often  feel  more  constraint  than 
pleasure  when  in  his  company.  His  intimate  friends  are 
satisfied  that  he  is  no  stranger  to  true  humility  of  heart;  but 
these  are  few.  By  others  he  is  thought  proud,  dogmatic,  and 
self-important;  nor  can  this  prejudice  against  him  be  easily 
removed,  until  he  can  lay  aside  that  cynical  air  which  he  has 
unhappily  contracted. 

Humanus  is  generous  and  benevolent.  His  feelings  are 
lively,  and  his  expressions  of  them  strong.  No  one  is  more 
distant  from  sordid  views,  or  less  influenced  by  a  selfish  spirit 
His  heart  burns  with  love  to  Jesus,  and  he  is  ready  to  receive 
with  open  arms  all  who  love  his  Saviour.  Yet  with  an  upright 
and  friendly  spirit,  which  entitles  him  to  the  love  and  esteem 
of  all  who  know  him,  he  has  not  everything  we  would  wish  in 
a  friend.  In  some  respects,  though  not  in  the  most  criminal 
sense,  he  bridleth  not  his  tongue.  Should  you,  without  wit- 
ness or  writing,  intrust  him  with  untold  gold,  you  would  run 
no  risk  of  loss;  but  if  you  intrust  him  with  a  secret,  you 
thereby  put  it  in  the  possession  of  the  public.  Not  that  he 
would  wilfully  betray  you,  but  it  is  his  infirmity.  He  knows 
not  how  to  keep  a  secret ;  it  escapes  from  him  before  he  is 
aware.  So  likewise  as  to  matters  of  fact :  in  things  which  are 
of  great  importance,  and  where  he  is  sufficiently  informed,  no 
man  has  a  stricter  regard  to  truth;  but  in  the  smaller  concerns 
of  common  life,  whether  it  be  from  credulity,  or  from  a  strange 
and  blamable  inadvertence,  he  frecpiently  grieves  and  surprises 
those  who  know  his  real  character,  by  saying  the  thing  that 
is  not.  Thus  they  to  whom  he  opens  his  very  heart,  dare 
not  make  him  returns  of  ec|ual  confidence ;  and  they  who  in 
some  cases  would  venture  their  lives  upon  his  word,  in  others 

VOL.  IV.  2  D 


314  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  AVRITERS. 

are  afraid  of  telling  a  story  after  him.  How  lamentable  are 
such  blemishes  in  such  a  person ! 

Prudens,  though  not  of  a  generous  natural  temper,  is  a  par- 
taker of  that  grace  which  ojDens  the  heart,  and  inspires  a  dis- 
position to  love  and  to  good  works.  He  bestows  not  his  alms 
to  be  seen  of  men ;  but  they  who  have  the  best  opportunities 
of  knowing  what  he  does  for  the  relief  of  others,  and  of  com- 
paring it  with  his  ability,  can  acquit  him  in  good  measure  of 
the  charge  which  another  part  of  his  conduct  exposes  him  to. 
For  Prudens  is  a  great  economist;  and  though  he  would  not 
willingly  wrong  or  injure  any  person,  yet  the  meannesses  to 
which  he  will  submit,  either  to  save  or  gain  a  penny  in  what 
he  accounts  an  honest  way,  are  a  great  discredit  to  his  profes- 
sion. He  is  iDunctual  in  fulfilling  liis  engagements ;  but  ex- 
ceedingly hard,  strict,  and  suspicious  in  making  his  bargams. 
And  in  his  dress,  and  every  article  of  his  personal  concerns,  he 
is  content  to  be  so  much  below  the  station  in  which  the  pro^d- 
dence  of  God  has  placed  him,  that  to  those  who  are  not  ac- 
quainted with  his  private  benefactions  to  the  poor,  he  appears 
under  the  hateful  character  of  a  miser,  and  to  be  governed  by 
that  love  of  money  which  the  Scripture  declares  to  be  the  root 
of  all  evil,  and  inconsistent  with  the  true  love  of  God  and  of 
the  saints. 

Volatilis  is  sufficiently  exact  in  performing  his  promises  in 
such  instances  as  he  thinks  of  real  importance.  If  he  bids  a 
person  depend  upon  his  assistance,  he  will  not  disappoint  his 
expectations.  Perhaps  he  is  equally  sincere  in  all  his  promises 
at  the  time  of  making  them;  but  for  want  of  method  in  the 
management  of  his  affairs,  he  is  always  in  a  hurry,  always  too 
late,  and  has  always  some  engagement  upon  his  hands  with 
which  it  is  impossible  he  can  comply :  yet  he  goes  on  in  this 
way,  exposing  himself  and  others  to  continual  disappoint- 
ments. He  accepts,  without  a  thought,  proposals  which  are 
incompatible  with  each  other,  and  will  perhaps  undertake  to  be 


VOLATILIS.  315 

at  two  or  three  different  and  distant  places  at  the  same  hour. 
This  has  been  so  long  his  practice,  that  nobody  now  expects 
him  till  they  see  him.  In  other  respects  he  is  a  good  sort  of 
man;  but  this  want  of  punctuality,  which  runs  through  his 
whole  deportment,  puts  everything  out  of  course  in  which  he 
is  concerned,  abroad  and  at  home.  Yolatilis  excuses  himself 
as  well  he  can,  and  chiefly  by  alleging,  that  the  things  in  which 
he  fails  are  of  no  great  consequence.  But  he  would  do  well  to 
remember,  that  truth  is  a  sacred  thing,  and  ought  not  to  be 
violated  in  the  smallest  matters,  -Rdthout  an  unforeseen  and 
unavoidable  prevention.  Such  a  trifling  turn  of  spirit  lessens 
the  weight  of  a  person's  character,  though  he  makes  no  pre- 
tentions to  religion,  and  is  a  still  greater  blemish  in  a  pro- 
fessor. 

Cessator  is  not  chargeable  with  being  buried  in  the  cares  and 
business  of  the  present  life  to  the  neglect  of  the  one  thing 
needful ;  but  he  greatly  neglects  the  duties  of  his  station.  Had 
he  been  sent  into  the  world  only  to  read,  pray,  hear  sermons, 
and  join  in  religious  conversation,  he  might  pass  for  an  emi- 
nent Christian.  But  though  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  his 
abounding  in  these  exercises  springs  from  a  heart-attachment 
to  divine  things,  his  conduct  _  evidences  that  his  judgment  is 
weak,  and  his  views  of  his  Christian  calling  are  very  narrow 
and  defective.  He  does  not  consider,  that  waiting  upon  God 
n  the  public  and  private  ordinances  is  designed,  not  to  excuse 
us  from  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of  civil  life,  but  to  instruct, 
strengthen,  and  qualify  us  for  their  performance.  His  affairs 
are  in  disorder,  and  his  family  and  connexions  are  likely  to 
suffer  by  liis  indolence.  He  thanks  God  that  he  is  not  worldly- 
minded;  but  he  is  an  idle  and  unfaithful  member  of  society, 
and  causes  the  way  of  truth  to  be  evil  spoken  of  Of  such  the 
apostle  has  determined,  that  "  if  any  man  mil  not  work,  neither 
should  he  eat." 

Curiosus  is  upright  and  unblamable  in  his  general  deport- 


316  PRACTICAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  WRITERS. 

ment,  and  no  stranger  to  tlie  experiences  of  a  true  Christian. 
His  conversation  upon  these  subjects  is  often  satisfactory  and 
edifying.  He  would  be  a  much  more  agreeable  companion, 
were  it  not  for  an  impertinent  desire  of  knomng  everybody's 
business,  and  the  grounds  of  every  hint  that  is  occasionally 
drojjped  in  discourse  where  he  is  present.  This  puts  him  upon 
asking  a  multiplicity  of  needless  and  improper  questions ;  and 
obliges  those  who  know  him,  to  be  continually  upon  their  guard, 
and  to  treat  him  with  reserve.  He  catechises  even  strangers, 
and  is  unwilling  to  part  with  them  until  he  is  punctually  in- 
formed of  all  their  connexions,  employments,  and  designs.  For 
this  idle  curiosity  he  is  marked  and  avoided  as  a  busy-b(>dy; 
and  they  w^ho  have  the  best  opinion  of  him,  cannot  but  wonder 
that  a  man,  who  aj^pears  to  have  so  many  better  things  to  em- 
ploy his  thoughts,  should  find  leisure  to  amuse  himself  with 
what  does  not  at  all  concern  him.  Were  it  not  for  the  rules 
of  civility,  he  would  be  affronted  every  day :  and  if  he  would 
attend  to  the  cold  and  evasive  answers  he  receives  to  his  in- 
quiries, or  even  to  the  looks  with  w^hich  they  are  accompanied, 
he  might  learn,  that,  though  he  means  no  harm,  he  apj^ears  to 
a  great  disadvantage,  and  that  this  prying  disposition  is  very 
unpleasing. 

Querulus  wastes  much  of  his  j^recious  time  in  declaiming 
against  the  management  of  public  affairs;  though  he  has 
neither  access  to  the  springs  which  move  the  wdieels  of  govern- 
ment, nor  influence  either  to  accelerate  or  retard  their  motions. 
Our  national  concerns  are  no  more  affected  by  the  remonstrances 
t:)f  Querulus,  than  the  heavenly  bodies  are  by  the  disputes  of 
astronomers.  While  the  newspapers  are  the  chief  sources  of 
his  intelligence,  and  his  situation  precludes  him  from  being  a 
competent  judge  either  of  matters  of  fact,  or  matters  of  right, 
why  should  Querulus  trouble  himself  with  politics  ?  This 
would  be  a  weakness,  if  we  consider  him  only  as  a  member 
of  society ;  but  if  we  consider  him  as  a  Christian,  it  is  worse 


QUERULUS.  317 

than  weakness :  it  is  a  sinful  conformity  to  tlie  men  of  the 
world,  who  look  no  further  than  to  second  causes,  and  forget 
that  the  Lord  reigns.  If  a  Christian  be  placed  in  a  public 
sphere  of  action,  he  should  undoubtedly  be  faithful  to  his 
calling,  and  endeavour  by  all  lawful  methods  to  transmit  our 
privileges  to  posterity :  but  it  would  be  better  for  Querulus  to 
let  the  dead  bury  the  dead.  There  are  people  enough  to  make 
a  noise  about  political  matters,  who  know  not  how  to  employ 
their  time  to  better  purpose.  Our  Lord's  kingdom  is  not  of 
this  world ;  and  most  of  His  people  may  do  their  country  much 
more  essential  service  by  pleading  for  it  in  prayer,  than  by 
finding  fault  with  things  which  they  have  no  power  to  alter. 
If  Querulus  had  opportunity  of  spending  a  few  months  under 
some  of  the  governments  upon  the  continent  (I  may,  indeed,  say 
under  any  of  them),  he  would  probably  bring  home  with  him 
a  more  grateful  sense  of  the  Lord's  goodness  to  him,  in  ap- 
pointing his  lot  in  Britain.  As  it  is,  his  zeal  is  not  only  un- 
profitable to  others,  but  hurtful  to  hmiself  It  embitters  his 
spirit,  it  diverts  his  thoughts  from  things  of  greater  importance, 
and  prevents  him  from  feeling  the  value  of  those  blessings, 
ci^il  and  religious,  which  he  actually  possesses :  and  could  he 
(as  he  wishes)  prevail  on  many  to  act  in  the  same  spirit,  the 
governing  powers  might  be  irritated  to  take  every  opportunity 
of  abridging  that  religious  liberty  which  we  are  favoured  with 
above  all  the  nations  upon  earth.  Let  me  remind  Querulus, 
that  the  hour  is  approaching,  when  many  things,  which  at  pre- 
sent too  much  engross  his  thoughts  and  inflame  his  j^assions, 
will  appear  as  foreign  to  him  as  what  is  now  transacting  among 
the  Tartars  or  Chinese. 

Other  improprieties  of  conduct,  which  lessen  the  influence 
and  spot  the  profession  of  some  who  wish  well  to  the  cause 
of  Christ,  might  be  enumerated,  but  these  ma}''  suffice  for  a 
specimen. 

2d  2 


THE  LAITY. 

The  names  of  Addison,  of  Soame  Jenyns  and  Abraham 
Tucker,  have  already  passed  under  our  review ;  William  Cowj^er 
and  several  others  will  come  before  us  among  the  poets  of  the 
eighteenth  century;  and  amongst  its  apologists  it  was  only  the 
want  of  space  which  constrained  us  to  omit  Lord  Lyttleton  and 
Gilbert  West.  But  it  would  be  injustice  to  our  subject  and  to 
our  readers  if  we  took  no  notice  of  others  who  were  amongst 
the  most  popular  writers  of  the  period ;  and  of  one  at  least 
who,  if  not  precisely  a  popular  author,  is  a  genius  of  whom 
Britain  is  proud,  and  for  whom  the  ci-dlised  world  is  grateful. 

SIR  ISAAC  NEWTON. 

When  inaugurating  the  statue  at  Grantham,  ■''■  Lord  Brougham 
began  his  address  by  saying  :  "  We  are  this  day  assembled  to 
commemorate  him  of  whom  the  consent  of  nations  has  declared 
that  that  man  is  chargeable  with  nothing  like  a  follower's 
exaggeration  or  local  partiality,  who  pronounces  the  name  of 
Newton  as  that  of  the  greatest  genius  ever  bestowed  by  the 
bounty  of  Providence,  for  instructing  mankind  on  the  frame  of 
the  universe,  and  the  laws  by  which  it  is  governed  : — 

'  Whose  genius  dimmed  all  other  men's  as  far 
As  does  the  mid-day  sun  the  midnight  star.'  " 

But  it  was  not  the  frame  of  the  universe  alone,  and  its 

material  laws,  which  this  gi'eat  thinker  desired  to  look  into. 

Early  in  life  he  had  turned  his  powerful  understanding  to  the 

study  of  theology,  and  found  a  special  attraction  in  the  pro- 

*  September  21,  1858. 


SIR  ISAAC  NEWTON.  310 

plietical  books  of  the  Bible.  Soon  after  liis  death  appeared 
his  "  Observations  upon  the  Pro^jhecies  of  Daniel,  and  the 
Apocalypse  of  St  John"  (1733),  and  his  "Lexicon  Propheti- 
■ciim"  in  1737.  One  great  merit  of  these  works  is  their  effort 
to  establish  general  principles  of  interpretation,  and  to  furnish 
n  key  to  the  symbolical  Language  of  Scripture ;  nor  need  it  be 
any  disparagement  to  the  illustrious  author  if  his  prophetical 
investigations  have  failed  to  command  the  general  and  final 
tissent  accorded  to  the  "  Principia  Mathematica." 

Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  born  at  Woolsthorpe,  six  miles  south 
from  Grantham,  in  Lincolnshire,  December  25,  1642.  He 
studied  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  in  1667  became 
n  fellow.  His  analysis  of  light  and  other  optical  discoveries 
were  made  before  1672.  The  "  Principia,"  unfolding  the  laws 
•of  universal  gravitation,  appeared  in  1686.  Succeeding  Dr 
Isaac  Barrow  as  Lucasian  professor  of  mathematics  in  1669, 
he  represented  the  university  in  the  convention  parliament  in 
1689,  and  was  appointed  master  of  the  mint  in  1697.  From 
the  year  1703  he  held  the  presidency  of  the  Ptoyal  Society 
until  his  death,  which  took  place  at  Kensington,  March  20, 
1728.-"- 

^erfotis  of  ^ri3p]^etic  UnsjJtrattcn. 

In  the  infancy  of  the  nation  of  Israel,  when  God  had  given 
them  a  lav\^,  and  made  a  covenant  with  them  to  be  their  God 
if  they  would  keep  His  commandments.  He  sent  prophets  to 
reclaim  them  as  often  as  they  revolted  to  the  worship  of  other 
gods ;  and  upon  their  returning  to  Him,  they  sometimes  re- 
newed the  covenant  which  they  had  broken.  These  prophets 
He  continued  to  send  till  the  days  of  Ezra ;  but  after  their 
prophecies  were  read  in  the  synagogues,  those  prophecies  were 
thought  sufficient.     For  if  the  people  would  not  hear  Moses 

*  See  the  copious  and  eloquent  ''IMemoirs  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,"  by  Sir 
David  Brewster.    2  vols.    1855. 


320  THE  LAITY. 

and  the  old  prophets,  they  Avoukl  hear  no  new  ones,  no  not 
though  they  should  rise  from  the  dead.  At  length,  when  a 
new  truth  was  to  be  preached  to  the  Gentiles — namely,  that 
Jesus  was  the  Christ,  God  sent  new  prophets  and  teachers; 
but  after  their  writings  were  also  received  and  read  in  the 
synagogues  of  the  Christians,  prophecy  ceased  a  second  time. 
We  have  Moses,  the  prophets  and  apostles,  and  the  words  of 
Christ  himself  j  and  i^  we  will  not  hear  them,  we  shall  be 
more  inexcusable  than  the  Jews.  For  the  prophets  and 
apostles  have  foretold,  that  as  Israel  often  revolted  and  brake 
the  covenant,  and  upon  repentance  renewed  it,  so  there  should 
be  a  falling  away  among  the  Christians  soon  after  the  days  of 
the  apostles,  and  that  in  the  latter  days  God  would  destroy 
the  impenitent  revolters,  and  make  a  new  covenant  with  His 
people.  And  the  giving  ear  to  the  prophets  is  a  fundamental 
character  of  the  true  Church.  For  God  has  so  ordered  the 
prophecies,  that  in  the  latter  days  the  wise  may  understand, 
but  the  wicked  shall  do  wickedly,  and  none  of  the  wicked 
shall  understand  (Dan.  xii.  9,  10).  The  authority  of  emperors, 
kings,  and  princes  is  human  ;  the  authority  of  councils,  synods, 
bishops,  and  presbyters  is  human.  The  authority  of  the  pro- 
phets is  divine,  and  comprehends  the  sum  of  religion,  reckon- 
ing Moses  and  the  apostles  among  the  prophets;  and  if  an 
angel  from  heaven  preach  any  other  gospel  than  what  they 
have  delivered,  let  him  be  accursed.  Their  writings  contain 
the  covenant  between  God  and  His  people,  with  instructions 
for  keeping  this  covenant,  instances  of  God's  judgments  upon 
them  that  break  it,  and  predictions  of  things  to  come.  While 
the  people  of  God  keep  the  covenant,  they  continue  to  be  His 
people ;  when  they  break  it,  they  cease  to  be  His  people  or 
Church,  and  become  the  synagogue  of  Satan,  who  say  they  are 
Jews  and  are  not.  And  no  power  on  earth  is  authorised  to 
alter  this  covenant. 


SIR  R,  STEELE.  321 


SIR  RICHARD  STEELE. 


The  fame  of  Sir  Eicliard  rests  on  "The  Tatler,"  "The  Spec- 
tator," "  The  Guardian,"  and  "  The  Englishman," — the  first  in 
that  unique  and  charming  series  known  as  "  The  British 
Essayists."  But  his  first  publication  was  "  The  Christian 
Hero."  He  wrote  it  when  an  ensign  in  the  Guards,  and  pub- 
lished it  with  his  name  in  1701.  He  hoped  that,  even  if  it  did 
no  other  good,  it  would  be  a  stimulus  to  his  own  virtuous 
exertions,  and  a  monitor  when  he  fell  short  of  his  own  stan- 
dard. Even  in  this  respect  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  was  not 
always  quite  successful. 

Steele  was  a  native  of  Dublin,  and  born  there  in  1671.  He 
died  at  his  own  estate,  Llangunnor,  in  AYales,  September  1, 
1729. 

^t  ^auL 

Meekness  is  to  the  mind,  what  a  good  mien  is  to  the  body, 
without  which  the  best  limbed  and  finest  complexioned  person 
may  be  very  disagreeable ;  and  with  it,  a  very  homely  and 
plain  one  cannot  be  so  :  for  a  good  air  supplies  the  imperfec- 
tion of  feature  and  shape,  by  throwing  a  certain  beauty  on  the 
whole,  which  covers  the  disagreeableness  of  the  parts.  It  has 
a  state  and  humility  peculiar  to  itself  above  all  virtues,  like 
the  holy  Scripture,  its  sacred  record,  where  the  highest  things 
are  expressed  in  the  most  easy  terms,  and  which  carries 
throughout  a  condescending  explanation,  and  a  certain  meek- 
ness of  style. 

With  this  circumstance,  and  this  ready  virtue,  the  faithful 
followers  of  a  crucified  Master  were  to  shape  their  course  to  an 
eternal  kingdom,  and,  with  that  in  prospect,  to  contemn  the 
hazards  and  disasters  of  a  cruel  and  impenitent  generation. 
Great  were  the  actions  and  sufferings  of  all  our  blessed  Savi- 
our's apostles ;  but  St  Paul  being  peculiarly  sent  to  us  who 


322  THE  LAITY. 

were  or  are  Gentiles,  he,  metliiiiks,  more  particularly  challenges 
our  regard.  God,  who  bestowed  upon  others  supernaturally 
the  gift  of  tongues,  but  not  of  arts,  thought,  therefore,  fit  to 
make  use  of  him,  already  master  in  some  measure  of  both,  and 
qualified  to  converse  with  the  politer  world,  by  his  acquaint- 
ance with  their  studies,  laws,  and  customs.  But  though  he 
shews  himself,  by  frequent  brisk  sallies  and  quick  interroga- 
tories, skilful  in  approaching  the  passions  by  rhetoric,  yet  he  is 
veiy  modest  in  any  of  these  ornaments,  and  strikes  all  along 
at  the  reason,  where  he  never  fails  to  convince  the  attentive 
and  unprejudiced ;  and  though  his  person  was  very  despicable 
(which  to  a  stranger  is  almost  an  insuperable  inconvenience), 
yet  such  was  the  power  of  the  commanding  truth  which  he 
uttered,  and  his  skill  how  and  when  to  utter  it,  that  there 
everywhere  appears  in  his  character  either  the  man  of  business, 
the  gentleman,  the  hero,  the  apostle,  or  the  martyr;  which 
eminence  above  the  other  apostles  might  be  well  expected  from 
his  sanguine  and  undertaking  complexion,  tempered  by  educa- 
tion, and  c[uickened  by  grace.  It  is  true,  indeed,  he  had 
opposed,  in  the  most  outrageous  and  violent  manner,  this  new 
faith,  and  was  accessory  to  the  murder  of  the  glorious  leader 
of  the  army  of  martyrs,  St  Stephen  ;  but  that  fierce  disposition 
fell  off  with  the  scales  from  his  eyes,  and  God,  who  ever 
regards  the  intention,  changed  his  mistaken  method  of  serving 
Him,  and  he  is  now  ready  to  promote  the  same  religion  by  his 
sufferings,  which  before  he  would  have  extirpated  by  his  per- 
secutions. He  and  his  companion  had  made  very  great  pro- 
gress in  the  conversion  both  of  Jews  and  Gentiles,  but  certain 
unbelievers  prompted  the  multitude  to  a  resolution  at  a  general 
assembly  to  assassinate  them  (Acts  xiv.) ;  but  they,  advertised 
of  it,  fled  unto  Lycaonia,  where  their  actions  and  eloquence 
were  very  successful.  But  at  Lystra,  a  certain  poor  cripple 
(from  his  mother's  womb)  heard  him  with  very  particular 
attention  and  devotion,  whom  the  apostle  (observing  in  liis 


SIE  R.  STEELE.  323 

very  countenance  liis  warm  contrition  and  preparation  of  soul 
to  receive  the  benefit)  commanded  to  stand  up,  upon  which  he 
immediately  jumped  upon  his  legs  and  walked.  This  miracle 
alarmed  the  whole  city,  who  believed  theii*  gods  had  descended 
in  human  shapes.  Barnabas  was  immediately  Jove,  and  Paul 
his  Mercury.  The  priest  of  Jupiter  now  is  commg  to  sacrifice 
to  them  wdth  oxen  and  garlands ;  but  they  ran  into  the  multi- 
tude (ver,  15),  exclaiming,  "  We  are  men  like  you, — subject  to 
the  same  weakness,  infirmities,  and  passions  with  yourselves. 
We,  alas  !  are  impotent  of  the  great  things  ourselves  have  done; 
your  and  our  Creator  will  no  longer  let  you  wander  in  the  maze 
and  error  of  your  vanities  and  false  notions  of  His  deity,  but 
has  sent  us  with  instances  of  His  omnipotence  to  awake  you  to 
a  worship  worthy  Him  and  worthy  you."  0  graceful  passage, 
to  see  the  gTeat  apostle  oppose  his  own  success  !  Now^  only  Ms 
vehemence,  his  power,  and  his  eloquence  are  too  feeble  when 
they  are  urgent  against  themselves  j  for  with  prayers  and  en- 
treaties the  crowd  could  hardly  be  prevailed  upon  to  forbeai! 
their  adoration.  But  this  applause,  like  all  other,  was  but  a 
mere  gust ;  for  the  malice  of  certain  Jews  followed  them  from 
Iconium,  and  cjuickly  insinuated  into  the  giddy  multitude  as 
much  rancour  as  they  had  before  devotion,  who  in  a  tumultuary 
manner  stoned  St  Paul,  and  dragged  him  as  dead  out  of  the 
gates  of  the  city ;  but  he  bore  their  aifronts  with  much  less 
indignation  than  their  worship.  Here  was  in  a  trice  the 
highest  and  lowest  condition,  the  most  respectful  and  most 
insolent  treatment  that  man  could  receive ;  but  Christianity, 
which  kept  his  eye  upon  the  cause,  not  effect,  of  liis  action 
(and  always  gives  us  a  transient  regard  to  transitory  things), 
depressed  him  when  adored,  exalted  him  when  affronted. 

But  these  two  excellent  men,  though  they  had  the  endear- 
ments of  fellow-suffering,  and  their  friendship  heightened  by 
the  yet  faster  tie  of  religion,  could  not  longer  accompany  each 
other,  but  upon  a  dispute  about  taking  Mark  with  them  (Act 


32^  THE  LAITY. 

XV.  39),  "\t1io  it  seems  had  before  deserted  tliem,  their  dissen- 
sion grew  to  the  highest  a  resentment  between  generous  friends 
ever  can,  even  to  part  and  estrange  them;  but  they  did  it 
mthout  rancour,  malice,  or  perhaps  disesteem  of  each  other  j 
for  God  has  made  us,  whether  we  observe  it  at  the  instant  of 
being  so  or  not,  so  much  instruments  of  His  great  and  secret 
X:)urposes,  that  He  has  given  every  individual  man,  I  know  not 
■what  peculiarly  his  own,  which  so  much  distinguishes  him, 
from  all  other  persons,  that  it  is  impossible,  sometimes,  for  two 
of  the  same  generous  resolutions,  honesty,  and  integrity,  to  do 
well  together  ;  whether  it  be  that  Providence  has  so  ordered  it 
to  distribute  virtue  the  more,  or  whatever  it  is,  such  is  the 
frequent  effect.  For  these  noble  personages  were  forced  to 
take  different  ways,  and  in  those  were  eminently  useful  in  the 
same  cause ;  as  you  may  have  seen  two  chemical  waters 
asunder,  shining,  transparent, — thrown  together,  muddy  and 
offensive. 

The  apostle  (Acts  xvi.)  was  warned  in  a  ^dsion  to  go  into 
ISIacedonia,  whither  he  and  his  new  companion  Silas  accord- 
ingly went.  At  Philippi  he  commanded  an  evil  spirit  to  depart 
out  of  a  young  woman ;  but  her  master  (to  whom  her  distrac- 
tion was  a  revenue,  which  ceased  by  her  future  inability  to 
answer  the  demands  usually  made  to  her),  with  the  ordinary 
method  of  hiding  private  malice  in  public  zeal,  raised  the 
multitude  upon  them,  as  disturbers  of  the  public  peace  and 
innovators  upon  their  laws  and  liberties  ;  the  multitude  hurried 
them  to  the  magistrates,  who,  happening  to  be  as  wise  as 
themselves,  commanded  them  to  be  stripped,  whipped,  and 
clapped  in  gaol;  the  keeper  receiving  very  strict  orders  for 
their  safe  custody,  put  them  in  irons  in  the  dungeon.  The 
abused  innocents  had  now  no  way  left  for  their  redress,  but 
apijlying  to  their  God,  who,  when  all  human  arts  and  forces 
fail,  is  ready  for  our  relief,  nor  did  St  Paul  on  less  occasions 
implore  preternatural  assistance. 


THE  PKISON  AT  PHILIPPI.  325 

Nec  Deus  intersit  nisi  clig-nns  vindice  nodus 

Incident r 

Let  not  a  God  approach  the  scene, 
In  cases  for  a  God  too  mean. 

(We  must,  to  men  of  wit  and  gallantry,  quote  out  of  their  own 
scriptures.)  Their  generous  way  of  devotion  and  begging 
assistance  was  giving  thanks  for  their  present  extremities.  In 
the  midst  of  their  sores  and  chains,  tliey  sang  hjanns  and 
praises  to  their  Creator ;  immediately  the  bolts  flew,  the 
manacles  fell  off,  the  doors  were  opened,  and  the  earth  shook ; 
the  jailer  awakes  in  terror,  and  believing  all  under  his  custody 
escaped,  went  to  despatch  himself;  but  St  Paul  calls  to  him, 
he  comes  and  beholds  his  prisoners  detained  by  nothing  but 
their  amazing  liberty — the  horror,  sorrow,  torture,  and  despair 
of  a  dungeon  turned  into  the  joy,  the  rapture,  the  hallelujah, 
the  ecstasy  of  an  heaven — he  fell  trembling  at  the  apostle's 
feet,  resigned  himself  to  his  captives,  and  felt  in  himself  the 
happy  exchange  of  his  liberty  for  that  yoke  in  which  alone 
is  perfect  freedom.  Early  the  next  morning,  upon  this  stu- 
pendous occasion,  the  magistrates  sent  orders  those  men 
might  be  released ;  but  St  Paul,  w^ho  knew  he  had  law  on  his 
side,  and  that  his  being  a  prisoner  made  him  not  the  less  a 
gentleman  and  a  Roman,  scorned  their  pretended  favour,  nor 
would  regard  their  message,  until  they  had  themselves,  in  as 
public  a  manner  acknowledged  their  oftence  as  they  had  com- 
mitted it,  which  they  did  by  attending  them  in  the  jail,  and 
desiring,  in  a  ceremonious  manner,  they  would  leave  the 
€ity;  upon  which  the  apostle  accepted  his  enlargement,  and 
when  he  had  settled  what  business  he  had  in  that  town 
(Acts  xvi.),  left  it  and  its  rulers  to  forget  that  painful  truth, 
which  they  had  neither  power  to  gainsay  nor  ingenuity  to  ac- 
knowledge. 

VOL.  IV.  9  r: 


326  THE  LAITY. 

DANIEL  DEFOE. 

If  Steele  was  tlie  earliest  of  the  British  essayists,  the  author 
of  "Moll  Flanders"  and  "Captam  Singleton"  maybe  con- 
sidered as  the  father  of  English  novelists ;  and  his  "  Religious 
Courtship,"  anticipating  by  a  century  the  "  Caslebs "  of  Mrs 
More  and  the  "  Modern  Accomplishments  "  of  Miss  Sinclair,  is 
the  first  attempt  at  conveying  Christian  instruction  through  a 
romantic  medium.  From  this  work,  once  almost  as  popular  as 
"  Robinson  Crusoe,"  we  have  chosen  our  extract. 

Defoe  was  born  in  the  parish  of  St  Giles,  Cripplegate,  and  in 
the  same  parish  he  died.  His  birth  took  place  about  the  year 
1663  ;  he  died  in  April  1731. 

STJe  Squire  anti  tjc  Cottaifcr. 

He  was  seriously  musing  on  this  part  one  evening,  walking 
all  alone  in  a  field  near  his  house,  when  he  began  to  look, 
with  great  concern,  upon  the  want  which  he  felt,  of  an  early 
foundation  laid  in  his  mind  by  a  religious  education.  Sure, 
said  he  to  himself,  we  that  are  men  of  fortune  are  the  most 
unhappy  part  of  mankind;  we  are  taught  nothing:  our  ances- 
tors have  had  so  little  notion  of  religion  themselves,  that  they 
never  so  much  as  thought  of  it  for  their  children:  I  don't 
wonder  they  have  thought  it  below  them,  for  knowing  little  or 
nothing  of  it  themselves,  they  had  no  other  excuse  to  one 
another  for  the  leaving  their  children  entirely  destitute  of  it, 
but  by  pretending  it  was  below  their  quality.  This  flung  him 
into  a  reflection  which  raised  this  sudden  passionate  expres- 
sion, God  be  merciful  unto  me  !  says  he ;  what  is  become  of 
my  father  and  grandfather?  He  went  on  thus:  Who  am  I? 
A  gentleman!  I  am  attended  by  servants;  sirred  and  wor- 
shipped and  honoured  here  by  a  parcel  of  poor  workmen  and 
tenants,  that  think  themselves  nothing  to  me,  and  are  half 
frighted  if  they  do  but  see  me;  and  I  am  in  the   sight  of 


THE  SQUIRE.  327 

Him  that  made  me,  and  in  my  own  too,  a  dog,  a  monster,  a 
creature  a  thousand  times  worse  than  the  meanest  of  them,  for 
I  am  a  wretch  with  a  soul,  and  yet  know  nothing  of  Him  that 
gave  it  me — a  soul  commanded  to  serve  and  obey  the  God 
that  made  it,  and  yet  never  taught  to  know  Him. 

There  lives  a  poor  ploughman,  and  yonder  lives  a  poor 
farmer,  they  both  fare  hard  and  work  hard ;  how  sober,  how 
religious,  how  serious  are  they !  How  are  they  daily  teaching 
and  instructing  their  children!  And  how  were  they  taught 
and  instructed  by  their  parents !  And  there 's  scarce  a  boy  of 
ten  years  old  in  their  families  but  knows  more  of  God  and 
religion  than  I  do;  I  have  been  taught  nothing  and  know 
nothing  but  this,  that  I  am  under  the  curse  of  darkness  in  the 
midst  of  light,  ignorant  in  the  midst  of  knowledge,  and  have 
more  to  give  an  account  of  than  a  negro  of  Africa,  or  a  savage 
of  America. 

He  had  wandered  so  long  in  these  meditations,  not  minding 
his  way,  that  he  found  night  coming  on,  and  he  scarce  knew 
he  was  so  far  from  his  own  house,  till  he  looked  about  him; 
hen  he  resolved  to  go  back;  so  he  broke  off  his  thoughts 
awhile,  and  made  a  little  haste  homeward.  In  his  way  he 
necessarily  went  by  a  poor  labouring  man's  door,  who,  with  a 
wife  and  four  children,  lived  in  a  small  cottage  on  the  waste, 
where  he,  the  gentleman,  was  lord  of  the  manor.  As  he 
passed  by,  he  thought  he  heard  the  mail's  voice,  and  stepping 
up  close  to  the  door,  he  perceived  that  the  poor,  good  old  man 
was  praying  to  God  with  his  family.  As  he  said  afterwards, 
his  heart  sprang  in  his  breast  for  joy  at  the  occasion,  and  he 
listened  eagerly  to  hear  what  he  said.  The  poor  man  was,  it 
seems,  gi^ing  God  thanks  for  his  condition,  and  that  of  his 
little  family,  which  he  did  with  great  affection ;  repeating  how 
comfortably  they  lived,  how  plentifully  they  were  pro\ided 
for,  how  God  had  distinguished  them  in  His  goodness,  that 
they  were  alive  when  others  were  snatched  away  by  diseases 


328  THE  LAITY. 

and  disasters,  in  liealtli  when  others  hingnished  with  pain 
and  sickness,  had  food  Avhen  others  were  in  want,  at  liberty 
when  others  were  in  prison,  were  clothed  and  covered  when 
others  were  naked  and  without  habitation,  concluding  with 
admiring  and  adoring  the  wonders  of  God's  providence  and 
mercy  to  them  who  had  deserved  nothing. 

He  was  confounded  and  struck,  as  it  Avere  speecliless,  with 
surprise  at  what  he  had  heard.  Nothing  could  be  more 
affecting  to  him :  he  came  away  (for  he  had  stayed  as  long  as. 
his  heart  could  hold),  and  walked  to  some  distance,  and  there 
he  stojjped,  looked  up  and  round  him,  as  he  said,  to  see  if  he 
was  awake,  or  if  it  was  a  dream.  At  last  he  got  some  vent  to 
his  thoughts,  and  throwing  out  his  arms.  Merciful  God !  says 
he,  is  this  to  be  a  Christian !  What  then  have  I  been  all  my 
days?  What  is  this  man  thus  thankful  for?  Why,  my  dogs- 
live  better  than  he  does  in  some  respects,  and  he  is  on  his. 
knees,  adoring  infinite  Goodness  for  his  enjoyments  !  AVhy,  I 
have  enjoyed  all  I  have,  and  never  had  the  least  sense  of  God's- 
goodness  to  me,  or  ever  once  said,  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  it,  in 
my  life.  Well  might  a  sober  woman  be  afraid  of  me.  Is  this 
humble  temper,  this  thankfulness  for  mere  j)overty,  is  this 
the  effect  of  being  a  Christian  ?  Why,  then,  Christians  are  the 
happiest  people  in  the  world  !  Why,  I  should  hang  myself  if 
I  was  to  be  reduced  to  a  degree  a  hundred  times  above  him;, 
and  yet  here  is  peace,  ease  of  mind,  satisfaction  in  circum- 
stances; nay,  thankfulness,  which  is  the  excess  of  human 
felicity;  and  all  this  in  a  man  who  just  lives  one  degree  above 
starving.  We  think  our  farmers  poor  slaves,  Avho  labour  and 
drudge  in  the  earth  to  support  us  that  are  their  landlords,  and 
who  look  upon  us  like  their  lords  and  masters :  why,  this  poor 
wretch  is  but  a  drudge  to  these  drudges,  a  slave  of  slaves,  and 
yet  he  gives  God  thanks  for  the  happiness  of  his  condition  1 
Is  this  the  frame  of  religious  people  !  What  a  monster  am  I !: 
Then  he  walked  a  little  way  further,  but  not  being  able  ta 


THE  COTTAGEE.  329 

contain  his  astonishment;  I'll  go  back,  says  lie,  to  poor  William 
(for  he  knew  liis  name),  he  shall  teach  me  to  be  a  Christian, 
for  I  am  sure  I  know  nothing  of  it  yet. 

Away  he  goes  back  to  the  poor  man's  house,  and  standing 
without,  he  whistled  first  and  then  called,  WiUiam,  William. 
The  poor  man,  his  family  worship  being  over,  was  just  going 
to  supper,  but  hearing  somebody  whistle,  he  thought  it  might 
be  some  stranger  who  had  lost  his  way,  as  is  often  the  '^ase  in 
the  country,  and  went  to  the  door,  ^Yhel•e  he  saw  a  gentleman 
stand  at  some  distance;  but  not  seeing  him  perfectly,  because 
it  was  dusk,  he  asked  who  he  was,  but  was  surprised  when  he 
heard  his  voice  and  knew  who  he  was. 

Don't  you  know  me,  William  ?  says  his  landlord. 

William.  Indeed,  I  did  not  know  your  worship  at  first.  I 
am  sorry  to  see  you  out  so  late,  an't  please  your  worship,  and 
all  alone ;  I  hope  you  an't  on  foot,  too  ? 

Landlord.  Yes,  I  am,  William,  indeed.  I  have  wandered 
through  the  wood  here  a  little  too  far  before  I  was  aware; 
will  you  go  home  with  me,  William  ? 

Wil.  Yes,  an't  please  your  worship  to  accept  of  me,  with  all 
my  heart ;  you  shall  not  go  alone  in  the  dark  thus :  an't  j)lease 
your  worship  to  stay  a  bit,  I'll  go  call  Goodman  Jones  and 
his  son  too;  we'll  all  see  you  safe  home. 

Land.  No,  no;  I '11  have  none  but  you,  William;  come  along. 

Wil.  An't,  please  you,  I'll  take  my  bill  in  my  hand,  then; 
it  is  all  the  weapons  I  have. 

Land.  Well,  do  then;  but  how  will  you  do  to  leave  your 
wife  and  children  ? 

Wil.  God  will  keep  them,  I  hope,  an't  please  your  worship : 
His  protection  is  a  good  guard. 

Land.  That's  true,  AVilliam;  come  along  then:  I  hope 
there  are  no  thieves  about.  [They  go  together. 

Wd.  Alas  !  an't  please  your  worship,  it  is  a  sorry  thief 
would  rob  a  cottage. 

2e2 


330  THE  LAITY. 

Land.  Well,  but  that  little  you  have,  William,  is  something, 
to  you,  and  you  would  be  loth  to  lose  it. 

Wil.  Indeed,  I  could  ill  spare  what  I  have,  though  it  be  veiy 
mean,  because  I  could  not  buy  more  in  the  room  of  it. 

Land.  J  \^o^Y  you  are  poor,  William;  how  many  children 
have  you  1 

Wil.  I  have  four,  an't  please  you. 

Land.  And  how  do  you  all  live  1 

Wil.  Indeed,  an't  please  you,  we  all  live  by  my  hard  labour^ 

Land.  And  what  can  you  earn  a-day,  William  ? 

TT^ii7.  Why,  an't  please  you,  I  cannot  get  above  lOd.  a-day 
now;  but  when  your  worship's  good  father  was  alive,  he 
always  gave  the  steward  orders  to  allow  me  12d.  a-day,  and 
that  was  a  great  help  to  me. 

Land.  Well,  but  William,  can  your  wife  get  nothing] 

Wil.  Truly,  now  and  then  she  can,  in  the  summer,  but  it  ic? 
veiy  little ;  she 's  but  weakly. 

Land.  And  have  you  always  work,  William? 

Wil.  Truly,  an't  please  you,  sometimes  I  have  not,  and  then 
it  is  very  hard  with  us. 

Land.  Well,  but  you  do  not  want,  I  hope,  William  ? 

Wil.  ISTo,  blessed  be  God,  an't  please  you,  we  do  not  want:, 
no,  no,  God  forbid  I  should  say  we  want;  we  want  nothing, 
but  to  be  more  thankful  for  what  we  have. 

[This  struck  him  to  the  heart,  that  this  poor  wretch  should 
say  he  wanted  nothing,  &c.] 

Land.  Thankful,  William  !  Why,  what  hast  thou  to  be 
thankful  for? 

Wil.  Oh,  dear !  an't  please  you,  I  should  be  a  dreadful 
TVTctch,  if  I  should  not  be  thankful !  Wliat  would  become  of 
me  if  I  had  nothing  but  what  I  deserve  ? 

Land.  Why,  what  couldst  thou  be  worse  than  thou  art, 
William? 

Wd.  The  Lord  be  praised,  an't  please  your  worshij,),  I  might 


THANKFULNESS,  331 

be  sick  and  lame  and  could  not  work,  and  then  we  must  all 
perish,  or  I  might  be  without  a  cover;  your  worship  might  turn 
me  out  of  this  warm  cottage,  and  my  wife  and  children  would 
be  starved  with  cold;  how  many  better  Christians  than  I  are 
exposed  to  misery  and  want,  and  I  am  provided  for !  Blessed 
be  the  Lord,  I  want  for  nothing,  an't  please  you. 

[It  was  dark  and  William  could  not  see  him,  but  he  owned 
afterwards,  that  it  made  his  heart  burn  within  him,  to  hear  the 
poor  man  talk  thus;  and  the  tears  come  out  of  his  eyes  so  fast, 
that  he  walked  thirty  or  forty  steps  before  he  coiild  speak  to 
him  again.] 

Land.  Poor  William !  thou  art  more  thankful  for  thy  cot- 
tage than  ever  I  was  for  the  manor-house ;  pr'ythee,  William^ 
can  you  tell  me  how  to  be  thankful  too  ? 

Wil.  An't  please  your  worship,  I  don't  doubt  but  you  are 
more  thankful  than  I;  you  have  a  vast  estate,  and  are  lord  of 
all  the  country,  I  know  not  how  far;  to  be  sure  you  are  more 
thankful  than  I,  an't  please  you. 

Land.  I  ought  to  be  so,  you  mean,  William;  I  know  that, 
for  it  all  comes  from  the  same  hand. 

Wil.  I  don't  doubt  but  you  are  very  thankful  to  God,  an't 
please  you ;  to  be  sure  you  are,  for  He  has  given  your  worship 
great  wealth,  and  where  much  is  given,  you  know,  ant  please 
you,  much  is  required ;  to  be  sure  you  are  much  more  thankful 
than  I. 

Land.  Truly,  William,  I  'd  give  a  thousand  pounds  were  I  as 
happy  and  as  thankful  as  thou  art;  pr'ythee,  William,  tell  me 
how  I  shall  bring  myself  to  be  thankful;  for  though  thou  art 
a  poorer  man,  I  believe  thou  art  a  richer  Christian  than  I  am. 

WU.  Oh !  an't  please  your  worship,  I  cannot  teach  you :  I 
am  a  poor  labouring  man,  I  have  no  learning. 

Land.  But  what  made  you  so  thankful,  William,  for  jittle 
more  than  bread  and  water  ? 

WU.   0,  sir,  an't  please  you,  my  old  father  used  to  say  to 


132  THE  LAITY. 

lie,  that  to  comiDare  what  we  receive  with  what  we  deserve, 
\ill  make  anybody  thankful. 

Land.  Indeed,  that's  true,  William.  Alas!  we  that  are 
jentlemen  are  the  unhappiest  creatures  in  the  world,  we 
:annot  quote  our  fathers  for  anything  that  is  fit  to  be  named. 
>Vas  thy  father  as  thankful  as  thou  art,  William  ? 

Wil.  Yes,  an't  please  you,  sir,  and  a  great  deal  more.  Oh  ! 
"  shall  never  be  so  good  a  Christian  as  my  father  was. 

Land.  I  shall  never  be  so  good  a  Christian  as  thou  art, 
fVilliam. 

Wd.  I  hope  you  are,  an't  please  you,  much  better  already : 
>od  has  blessed  your  worship  with  a  vast,  great  estate,  and  if 
3e  gives  you  grace  to  honour  Him  with  it.  He  has  put  means 
n  your  worship's  hands  to  do  a  great  deal  of  good  with  it, 
m't  please  you. 

Land.  But  you  have  a  better  estate  than  I,  William. 

Wd.  I  an  estate!  an't  please  you,  I  am  a  poor  labouring 
nan ;  if  I  can  get  bread  by  my  work  for  my  poor  children,  it 
s  all  I  have  to  hope  for  on  this  side  eternity. 

Land.  William,  William !  thou  hast  an  inheritance  beyond 
:his  world,  and  I  want  that  hope ;  I  am  very  serious  with  thee, 
^Villiam.  Thou  hast  taught  me  more  this  one  night,  of  the 
;rae  happiness  of  a  Christian's  life,  than  ever  I  knew  before; 
[  must  have  more  talk  with  thee  upon  this  subject,  for  thou 
[last  been  the  best  instructor  ever  I  met  with. 

]VU.  Alas !  sir,  I  am  a  sorry  instructor.  I  want  help  myself, 
m't  please  you,  and  sometimes,  the  Lord  knows,  I  am  hardly 
ible  to  bear  up  under  my  burden;  but,  blessed  be  God,  at 
)ther  times  I  am  comforted,  that  my  hope  is  not  in  this  life. 

Land.  I  tell  thee,  William,  thy  estate  is  better  than  all 
mine ;  thy  treasure  is  in  heaven  and  thy  heart  is  there  too ;  I 
would  give  all  my  estate  to  be  in  thy  condition. 

Wd.  O  sir,  I  hope  your  worship  is  in  a  better  condition 
tlian  I  every  way. 


"  A  GOOD  OLD  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN  !"  333 

Land.  Look  you,  William,  I  am  very  serious  with  tliee; 
thou  knowest  liow  I  have  been  brought  up,  for  you  remember 
my  father  very  well. 

Wil.  Yes,  I  do  indeed;  he  was  a  good  man  to  the  poor;  I 
was  the  better  for  him  many  a  day ;  he  was  a  worthy  gentle- 
man. 

Land.  But,  William,  he  never  took  any  care  of  us  that  were 
his  children,  to  teach  us  anything  of  religion ;  and  this  is  my 
case,  as  it  is  the  case  of  too  man}^  gentlemen  of  estates;  we  are 
the  unhappiest  creatures  in  the  world;  we  are  taught  nothing, 
and  we  know  nothing  of  religion,  or  of  Him  that  made  us ; 
it  is  below  us  it  seems. 

Wil.  It  is  a  great  pity,  indeed,  an't  please  you,  but  I  know 

it  is  so  too  often.     There  is  young  Sir  Thomas  • ,  your 

worship's  cousin,  he  is  a  pretty  youth  and  may  make  a  fine 
gentleman,  but  though  he  is  but  a  child,  he  has  such  Avords  in 
liis  mouth,  and  will  swear  so  already,  it  grieves  me  to  hear 
him  sometimes.  It  is  true  his  father  is  dead,  but  sure  if  my 
lady  knew  it,  she  would  teach  him  better ;  it  is  a  pity  so  hope- 
ful a  young  gentleman  should  be  ruhied. 

Land.  And  who  d(3  you  think  spoiled  him  ? 

Wd.  Some  wicked  children  that  they  let  him  play  with,  I 
believe,  or  some  loose  servants. 

Land.  No,  no,  William,  only  his  own  father  and  mother. 
I  have  seen  his  father  take  him  when  he  was  a  child,  and 
make  him  speak  lewd  words  and  sing  immodest  songs,  when 
the  poor  child  did  not  so  much  as  know  the  meaning  of  what 
he  said,  or  that  the  words  were  not  fit  for  him  to  speak :  and 
you  talk  of  my  lady  !  why,  she  will  swear  and  curse  as  fast  as, 
her  coachman :  how  should  the  child  learn  any  better  ? 

Wd.  Oh,  dear,  that  is  a  dreadful  case  indeed,  an't  please  you  ; 
then  the  poor  youth  must  be  ruined  of  necessity;  there's  no 
remedy  for  him,  unless  it  please  God  to  single  him  out  by  His 
distinguishing,  invisible  grace. 


334  THE  LAITY. 

Land.  Why  his  case,  ^yillialn,  is  my  case,  and  the  case  of 
half  the  gentlemen  in  England.  AVhat  God  may  do,  as  you 
say,  by  His  invisible  grace,  I  know  not,  nor  scarce  know  what 
you  mean  by  that  word;  we  are,  from  our  infancy,  given  up 
to  the  devil,  almost  as  directly  as  if  we  were  put  out  to  nurse 
to  him. 

^Yil.  Indeed,  sir,  an't  please  you,  the  gentlemen  do  not 
think  much  of  religion ;  I  fear  it  was  always  so  :  the  Scripture 
says,  "  Not  many  rich,  not  many  noble  are  called,"  and  it  is 
''the  poor  of  this  world  that  are  rich  in  faith"  (James  ii.  5). 

Land.  I  find  it  so,  indeed,  "William,  and  I  find  myself  at  a 
dreadful  loss  in  this  very  tiling ;  I  am  convinced  the  happiness 
of  man  does  not  consist  in  the  estate,  pleasures,  and  enjoy- 
ments of  life ;  if  so,  the  poor  alone  would  be  miserable,  and  the 
rich  men  only  be  blessed ;  but  there  is  something  beyond  this 
world  which  makes  up  for  all  that  is  deficient  here;  this  you 
have,  and  I  have  not ;  and  so,  William,  you,  in  your  poor  cottage, 
are  richer  and  more  happy  than  I  am  with  the  whole  manor. 

Wil.  Indeed,  sir,  if  in  this  world  only  we  had  hope,  the 
poor  would  be  of  all  men  the  most  miserable;  blessed  be  the 
Lord  that  our  portion  is  not  in  this  life.  But,  sir,  an't  j)lease 
you,  I  hope  you  will  not  discourage  yourself  neither,  for  God 
has  not  chosen  the  poor  only :  rich  men  have  temptations  from 
the  world  and  hindrances  very  many,  and  it  is  hard  for  them 
to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven ;  but  they  are  not  shut 
out;  the  gate  is  not  barred  upon  them  because  they  are  rich. 

Jjand.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  William,  nor  which  way  to 
begin,  but  I  see  so  many  obstructions  in  the  work,  that  I 
doubt  I  shall  never  get  over  it. 

ir<7.  Do  not  say  so,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  an't  please  you;  the 
promise  is  made  to  all ;  and  if  God  has  given  you  a  heart  to 
seek  Him,  He  will  meet  you  and  bless  you,  for  He  has  said, 
"  Their  heart  shall  live  that  seek  the  Lord."  Many  great  and 
rich  men   have   been  good  men ;  we  read  of  good  kings  and 


J 


WHAT  IS  THE  FIRST  STEP  1  335 

good  princes ;  and,  if  your  difficulties  are  great,  you  have  great 
encouragements;  for  you  that  are  great  men  have  great  oppor- 
tunities to  honour  God  and  to  do  good  to  His  church;  poor 
men  are  denied  these  opportunities;  we  can  only  sit  still  and 
be  patient  under  the  weight  of  our  sorrows  and  our  poverty, 
and  look  for  His  blessing,  which  alone  makes  rich,  and  adds 
no  sorrow  to  it. 

Land.  But  tell  me,  William,  what  is  the  first  step  such  a 
poor  uneducated  thing  as  I  am  should  take  ?  I  see  a  beauty 
in  religion  which  I  cannot  reach;  I  see  the  happiness  which 
thou  enjoy  est,  William,  in  an  humble,  religious,  correct  life  ;  I 
would  give  all  my  estate  to  be  in  th}^  condition;  I  would 
labour  at  the  hedge  and  the  ditch,  as  thou  dost,  could  I  have 
the  same  peace  within  and  be  as  thankful,  and  have  such  an 
entire  confidence  in  God  as  thou  hast;  I  see  the  haj^piness  of 
it,  but  nothing  of  the  way  how  to  obtain  it. 

Wil.  Alas !  sir,  an't  please  you,  you  do  not  know  my  con- 
dition. I  am  a  poor  disconsolate  creature ;  I  am  sometimes  so 
lost,  so  dark,  so  overwhelmed  with  my  condition  and  with  my 
distresses,  that  I  am  tempted  to  fear  God  has  forgotten  to  be 
gracious;  that  I  am  cast  off  and  left  to  sink  under  my  own 
burden;  I  am  so  unworthy,  so  forgetful  of  my  duty,  so  easily 
let  go  my  hold  and  cast  off  my  confidence,  that  I  fear  often 
I  shall  despair. 

Land.  And  what  do  you  do  then,  William  ? 
Wil.  Alas !  su',  I  go  mourning  many  a  day,  and  waking 
many  a  night ;  but  I  bless  the  Lord  I  always  mourn  after  Him, 
I  always  cleave  to  Him,  I  am  not  tempted  to  run  from  Him, 
I  know  I  am  undone  if  I  seek  comfort  in  any  other.  Alas ! 
whither  else  shall  I  go?  I  cry  night  and  day,  Keturn,  return, 
0  Father !  and  resolve  to  lie  at  His  feet ;  and  that  "  Though 
He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him."  And  blessed  be  the  God 
of  my  hope,  He  does  send  comfort  and  peace,  though  some- 
times it  is  very  long. 


33G 


THE  LAITY. 


Land.  Well,  William,  and  is  tliis  a  disconsolate  condition? 
Would  yon  change  your  condition  with  me,  that  am  the  rich 
glutton? 

Wil.  Oh,  do  not  say  so  of  yourself,  an't  please  you;  God 
has  touched  your  Avorship's  heart,  I  perceive,  with  an  earnest 
desire  after  Him;  you  have  a  gracious  promise,  that  would 
greatly  encourage  you,  if  you  would  but  take  it  to  yourself. 

Land.  Encourage  me,  William!  that's  impossible.  What 
can  encourage  me  ?  What  promise  is  it  you  talk  of  that  looks 
towards  me  ? 

WU.  Why,  an't  please  you,  I  heard  you  say  you  would 
change  your  condition  with  such  a  poor  wretch  as  I;  you 
would  labour  at  the  hedge  and  the  ditch  to  have  the  know- 
iedoe  of  God  and  relioion,  and  to  be  able  to  be  thankful  to 

O  0  7 

Him  and  have  confidence  in  Him ;  this  implies  that  you  have 
a  "  longing,  earnest  desire  after  Him,"  and  after  the  knowledge 
of  this  truth. 

Land.  Indeed,  that  is  true,  William. 

Wil.  Then  there  are  many  comforting  Scriptures  which 
S2)eak  directly  to  j^ou,  sir,  viz.,  "  Blessed  are  they  that  hunger 
and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall  be  filled ;"  "  the 
longing  soul  shall  be  satisfied:"  He  will  "satisfy  the  desires 
of  all  those  that  fear  Him :"  and  the  like. 

Land.  But  what  must  I  do  ?  Which  is  the  way  an  ignorant 
wretch  must  take  ? 

Land.  I  told  you,  William,  you  hardly  knew  who  you  were 
talking  to.  You  talk  of  my  reading  the  Scripture.  Why,  I  '11 
tell  thee,  William,  I  have  not  a  Bible  in  the  world,  and  never 
had  one  in  my  life.  There 's  the  manor-house  yonder ;  I  ques- 
tion whether  God  was  ever  prayed  to  in  it,  or  His  name  ever 
mentioned  there,  except  profanely,  or  perhaps  to  swear  by  it, 
since  it  was  built.  Why,  you  know,  as  well  as  I,  what  a  family 
it  was  that  lived  in  it  when  my  father  purchased  it.      They 


DR  JOHNSON,  337 

were  as  mncli  strangers  to  religion,  William,  as  thou  art  to 
Greek  and  Hebrew;  and  ours  were  but  little  better  tliat  came 
after  them. 

Wil.  I  fear,  indeed,  an't  please  your  worship,  it  was  so. 
Poor  gentlemen  !  they  lived  badly,  indeed,  very  badly.  Alas ! 
gentlemen  must  not  be  told  of  it  by  us  poor  men :  but  they 
were  a  sad  wicked  family ;  I  remember  it  well. 

Land.  But,  William,  thou  canst  lend  me  a  Bible;  canst 
thou  not?  and  I'll  read  it  all  over  while  I  live  in  the 
country. 

Wil.  Yes,  an't  please  your  worship,  I  '11  lend  you  a  Bible ; 
I  '11  bring  it  in  the  morning. 

Land.  Do,  William,  and  come  and  stay  with  me  to-mor- 
row ;  I  '11  make  thee  amends  for  thy  day's  work,  and 
there's  something  for  thy  good  advice  and  coming  so  far 
with  me. 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

With  the  life-size  fac-simile  supplied  by  Boswell,  and  with  the 
coloured  stereoscope  of  Macaulay,  so  familiar  to  every  reader, 
there  is  no  need  that  we  should  attempt  a  sketch  of  the  great 
literary  dictator.  Nor  is  it  needful  that  we  should  vindicate 
his  claim  to  a  place  among  '•  Our  Christian  Classics."  With 
all  his  practical  shortcomings,  for  many  of  which  an  extenua- 
tion may  be  found  in  a  physical  constitution  singularly  cum- 
bersome and  unhappy,  there  can  be  no  dispute  as  to  the 
strength  of  Dr  Johnson's  religious  convictions ;  and  if  his 
*' Meditations  and  Prayers"  reveal  much  of  our  human  weak- 
ness, they  also  betoken  the  struggles  of  a  nobler  principle, 
which,  it  is  pleasant  to  believe,  has  now  obtained  the 
victory. 

Samuel  Johnson  was  born  at  Lichfield,  September  18, 
1700,  and  died  at  London,  December  13,  1784. 

VOL.  Vs.  2  F 


338  THE  LAITY. 


lstJan.l78i.  p.m.,  11. 
0  Lord  God,  heavenly  Father,  by  whose  mercy  I  am  now 
living  another  year,  grant,  I  beseech  Thee,  that  the  time  which 
Thou  shalt  yet  allot  me,  may  be  sjoent  in  Thy  fear  and  to  Thy 
glory.  Give  me  such  ease  of  body  as  may  enable  me  to  be 
useful,  and  remove  from  me  all  such  scruples  and  perplexities 
as  encumber  and  obstruct  my  mind ;  and  help  me  to  pass,  by 
the  direction  of  Thy  Holy  Spirit,  through  the  remaining  part 
of  life,  that  I  may  be  finally  received  to  everlasting  joy, 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

AsHBouRN,  5th  Sept.  1784. 
Almighty  Lord  and  merciful  Father,  to  Thee  be  thanks  and 
praise  for  all  Thy  mercies,  for  the  awakening  of  my  mind,  for 
the  continuance  of  my  life,  the  amendment  of  my  health,  and 
the  opportunity  now  granted  of  commemorating  the  death  of 
Thy  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  our  Mediator  and  Kedeemer.  Enable 
me,  O  Lord,  to  repent  truly  of  my  sins.  Enable  me,  by  Thy 
Holy  Spirit,  to  lead  hereafter  a  better  life.  Strengthen  my 
mind  against  useless  perplexities.  Teach  me  to  form  good 
resolutions ;  and  assist  me  that  I  may  bring  them  to  eifect. 
And  when  Thou  shalt  finally  call  me  to  another  state,  receive 
me  to  everlasting  hapi>iness,  for  the  sake  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen. 

5th  Dec.  1784. 
Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father,  I  am  now,  as  to  human 
eyes  it  seems,  about  to  commemorate,  for  the  last  time,  the 
death  of  Thy  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour  and  Redeemer. 
Grant,  O  Lord,  that  my  whole  hope  and  confidence  may  be  in 
His  merits  and  in  Thy  mercy.  Forgive  and  accept  my  late 
conversion  ;  enforce  and  accept  my  imperfect  repentance  ;  make 


DR  EUTTY.  339 

this  commemoration  available  to  the  confirmation  of  my  faith, 
the  establishment  of  my  hope,  and  the  enlargement  of  my 
charity ;  and  make  the  death  of  Thy  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  effec- 
tual to  my  redemption.  Have  mercy  upon  me,  and  pardon 
the  multitude  of  my  offences.  Bless  my  friends  ;  have  mercy 
upon  all  men.  Support  me  by  the  grace  of  Thy  Holy  Spirit 
in  the  days  of  weakness,  and  at  the  hour  of  death  ;  and  receive 
me  at  my  death  to  everlasting  happiness,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen, 

DR  JOHN  RUTTY. 

One  of  the  most  curious  books  of  last  century  is  "  A  Spirit- 
ual Diary,  by  John  Kutty,  M.D."  Some  specimens  of  it 
which  fell  under  the  eye  of  Dr  Johnson,  exceedingly  amused 
him,  "  particularly  his  mentioning,  with  such  serious  regret, 
occasional  instances  of  'swinishness  in  eating,  va\^  doggeclness  of 
temper.'"*  Yet,  the  great  moralist  must  have  felt  a  certain 
respect  for  the  rigid  self-accuser.  He  is  the  most  faithful  of 
autobiographers,  and  if  there  are  entries  in  his  diary  at  which 
it  is  impossible  not  to  smile,  the  reader  cannot  help  admiring 
the  severity  of  the  censor,  and  the  honesty  of  the  historian. 

Dr  Ptutty  was  a  native  of  Ireland.  He  was  born  December 
26,  1698,  and  died  at  Dublin,  April  27,  1775.  He  belonged 
to  the  Society  of  Friends,  and,  besides  being  a  physician  in 
large  practice,  obtained  some  distinction  by  his  publications 
on  Materia  Medica,  on  Mineral  Waters,  and  on  other  subjects 
connected  with  his  own  profession. 

1754.  Third  month,  29.  Lord,  deliver  from  living  to  eat, 
drink,  sleep,  smoke,  and  study. 

Fourth  month,  2.     Snappish  on  hunger. 

*  Croker's  "  Boswell/'  vol.  vi.  p.  314. 


3^0  THE  LAITY. 

Ninth  montli,  27.  Soundness  and  integrity  of  mind,  blessed 
be  the  Lord,  is  returned,  and  my  late  delirium  clearly  seen,  in 
a  wliim  of  a  voyage  to,  and  settlement  in,  New  England ;  an 
absurd  conceit,  and  which  would  have  ended,  at  least,  in 
trouble  and  danger  ;  and  quitting  the  bird  in  hand  (my  com- 
fortable settlement  here)  for  one  in  the  bushes  !  Oh  my  weak- 
ness ! 

Tenth  month,  2.  Perfection  in  knowledge  was  never  in- 
tended for  us  (for  we  take  a  trip  or  two,  and  then  go  down  to 
the  grave)  ;  therefore,  aim  not  at  it. 

Again,  neither  was  happiness  intended  for  us ;  therefore,  do 
not  expect  it :  but  frequent  and  wholesome  courses. 

Twelfth  month,  11.  A  poor,  dull,  sickly  day  :  indigestion 
and  choler. 

25.  Finished  my  cast-up.  I  am  a  hundred  pounds  less  rich 
than  a  year  ago,  by  my  sickness,  which  hath  been  egregiously 
sanctified,  blessed  be  the  Lord  !  for  surely  the  power  of  dark- 
ness is  crushing  under  the  triumphant  powers  of  light  and  truth. 

1757.  Fourth  month,  3.  P.  J.  a-dying,  and  J.  A.  cadu- 
cous. The  Lord  is  mowing  down  my  associates  in  an  awaken- 
ing manner. 

IL  Piggish  at  meals. 

14.  Unrighteously  snappish. 

27.  Lord,  thou  hast  given  to  be  content  with  a  little,  and  to 
enjoy  the  fruit  of  my  labours  sweetly. 

Ninth  month,  15.  AU  crossness  is  a  breach  of  "Thy  will 
be  done." 

Eleventh  month,  1.  My  servant  says,  "  I  am  actually  more 
cross,  notwithstanding  my  late  higher  pretensions."  Indeed, 
I  do  not  altogether  believe  her  :  Lord,  however,  help  to  falsify 
any  such  testimony  from  this  time. 

Twelfth  month,  3.  A  sober  computation  with  my  servant 
and  help-meet  in  my  work,  on  finishing  the  same,  and  enjoying 
the  fruit  of  our  labours. 


MRS  MORE.  341 

5.  Meclianically,  and  perhaps  a  little  diabolically  dogged 
tliis  morning. 

G.  A  dead  load  of  books  lying  by  useless. 

22.  Dogged,  not  only  weakly  but  wickedly. 

23.  A  silent  meeting,  but  luminous,  thus  :  "  We  are  bom 
crying,  live  complaining,  and  die  disappointed"  —  a  true 
account :  Why,  then,  so  fond  of  life  ?  Lord,  improve  this  im- 
pression to  a  due  contempt  of  it. 

1760.  Seventh  month,  6.  An  exercise  of  patience  from  an 
unrighteous  detention  of  fee  :  but,  in  Canaan's  language,  so 
much  the  more  glory. 

22.  Proceeded  in  a  social  capacity  to  admonish  an  offend- 
ing brother,  even  a  dram-drinker  in  high  station,  discharging 
our  consciences  faithfully. 

Eighth  month,  6.  Attended  the  school-meeting,  and  Lucifer 
was  at  my  back. 

7.  Five  in  the  morning.     Sang  praises  in  the  night. 

15.  Ten  paupers  occasioned  muttering  :  my  strength  in  good- 
ness is  very  small. 

Ninth  month,  17.  Oh  the  imperfections  of  science  clearly 
manifested  in  the  present  controversy  in  hydrology  !  of  which 
I  now  finished  the  first  draught,  blessed  be  God  ! 

Twelfth  month,  9.  A  luminous  silent  meeting.  Saw,  in  a 
clear  vision,  divers  brethren  coming  up  in  their  services  like 
•half-dro\sTied  animals.  God  grant  me  so  nnich  the  more  fer- 
vour of  love,  and  to  be  still  so  much  the  more  loose  from  these 
worldly  entanglements,  and  the  rather  because  the  judge  is  at 
the  door. 

12.  Exercised  in  church-business,  even  in  hunting  a  fox 
^who" would  elude  our  discipline. 

HANNAH  MORE. 

It  was  no  ordinary  brilliancy  which  secured  for  this  gifted 
lady  the  friendship  and  admiration  of  Dr  Johnson,  of  Horace 


342  THE  LAITY. 

Walpole,  and  David  Garrick ;  and  it  was  no  ordinary  service 
to  the  cause  of  the  revi\ing  religion  of  her  native  land  which 
she  rendered  by  works  like  her  "  Christian  Morals  "  and  "  Prac- 
tical Piety."  But  of  all  the  achievements  of  her  pen,  the 
greatest  was  "  The  Cheap  Repository  Tracts,"  of  which  two 
millions  of  copies  were  circulated  in  a  single  year.  For  ]SIrs 
^loRE  may  be  claimed  the  honour  of  being  the  first,  and  in 
some  respects  the  best,  of  all  our  writers  of  religious  tracts. 

She  was  born  at  Stapleton,  in  the  county  of  Gloucester,  in 
17-45,  and  died  at  Clifton,  September  7,  1833. 

Qiliijcnt  Qick 

"  A  false  witness  shall  not  go  unpunished;  and  be  who  speaketh  lies  shall 
perish." 

Don't  be  frightened,  reader  !  Although  I  set  out  with  a  text^ 
I  am  not  going  to  preach  a  sermon,  but  to  tell  a  story.  On 
the  right  side  of  Marshmoor  Common,  and  not  more  than  five 
hundred  yards  out  of  the  turnpike  road,  stood  a  lone  cottage 
inhabited  by  one  Richard  Rogers,  a  day-labourer,  commonly 
called  Diligent  Dick.  Though  poor,  he  was  as  much  noted 
for  his  honesty  as  for  the  care  and  industry  with  which  he  had 
brought  up  a  large  family  in  a  very  decent  manner.  About 
fifteen  years  ago,  in  the  month  of  January,  there  suddenly  fell 
a  deep  snow,  attended  by  such  a  high  wind,  that  many  travel- 
lers lost  their  lives  in  it — when,  all  on  a  sudden,  as  Rogers 
and  his  family  were  crowding  round  a  handful  of  fire,  to  catch 
a  last  heat  before  they  went  to  bed,  they  heard  a  doleful  cry 
of  "  Help  !  help  !  for  God's  sake,  help  ! "  Up  started  Rogers 
in  an  instanj; ;  when  clapping  the  end  of  a  farthing  candle  into 
a  broken  horn-lanthorn,  and  catching  up  his  staff,  out  he 
sallied,  directing  his  steps  towards  the  spot  from  whence  the 
cries  came.  In  one  of  the  sand-pits,  he  found  a  gentleinan 
who  had  fallen  from  his  horse  and  was  nearly  buried  in  the 


DILIGENT  DICK.  343 

snow.  Eogers,  though  with  much  difficulty,  at  length  dragged 
him  out;  and  after  securing  the  horse,  conveyed  them  both 
home. 

The  gentleman  appeared  elderly,  and  seemed  almost  perished 
with  cold :  for  a  long  time  he  was  c[uite  speechless,  his  jaws 
appeared  locked,  and  it  was  only  by  inward  groans  they  could 
perceive  he  had  any  remains  of  life  in  him,  so  benumbed  and 
stiffened  was  he  mth  cold.  After  they  had  rubbed  his  limbs 
for  some  time  before  the  fire,  the  gentleman  by  degrees  re- 
covered himself,  and  began  to  thank  Rogers  and  his  wife, 
whom  he  saw  busied  about  him,  as  well  as  his  children. 
"  Sir,"  said  Betty  Rogers,  ''  although  we  be  poor  in  pocket,  we 
may  nevertheless  be  kind  in  heart."  Here  the  stranger,  after 
fetching  a  deep  sigh,  said,  "if  liis  life  were  granted  him,  he 
hoped  it  would  be  in  his  power  to  reward  them  for  their  kind- 
ness." Rogers  replied,  "  that  what  he  had  done  for  him,  he 
would  have  done  for  his  worst  enemy."  Here  the  gentleman 
groaned  heavily,  saying  he  had  been  long  sick  himself,  and 
that  he  could  not  enough  admire  the  healthy  looks  of  Rogers's 
children. 

"  Blessed  be  God,  sir,"  said  Rogers,  "  although  my  fiimily 
is  numerous,  I  never  paid  a  shilling  for  doctor's  stuff  in  my 
life,  nor  do  I  know  even  the  price  of  a  coffin.  If  my  wealth 
is  small,  my  wants  are  few;  and  though  I  know  I  am  a  sinner, 
and  need  daily  repentance,  yet  my  conscience  is  quiet,  for  I 
have  knowingly  done  wrong  to  no  man;  nor  would  I  forfeit 
my  peace  of  mind,  sir,  to  become  the  highest  man  in  Old 
England.  I  am  not  covetous  of  wealth,  sir,  since  I  have  seen 
liow  little  comfort  they  often  enjoy  who  possess  it;  the  honest 
man,  sir,  sleeps  soundly  on  the  hardest  bed;  whilst  he  who 
has  '  made  too  much  haste  to  be  rich,'  may  lie  down  on  the 
softest  bed  with  an  aching  heart,  but  shall  not  be  able  to  find 
rest." 

All  this  while  Betty  Rogers  sat  pi  ffing  and  blowing  the  fire 


344  THE  LAITY. 

with  a  pair  of  broken-nosed  bellows,  in  order  to  boil  lier  kettle, 
to  make  tlie  gentleman  a  disli  of  lier  coarse  boliea-tea,  as  sbe 
had  no  spirits,  or  liquor  of  any  kind,  except  spring  water,  to 
offer  him :  she  also  toasted  a  bit  of  bread,  though  she  had  no 
butter  to  spread  over  it. 

Here  the  gentleman  attempted  to  partake   of  Betty's  tea 
and  toast,  when  all  at  once  he  began  to  tremble  all  over  so 
exceedingly,  that  he  begged  she  would  set  it  down  for  the 
present,  for  if  he  was  to  attempt  to  swallow  it,  he  was  certain 
it  would  choke  him.     "It  is  but  cold  comfort  to  be  sure,  sir," 
said  Eogers,  "we  have  to  offer  you;  but  nevertheless,  we  must 
hope  you  will  take  the  will  for  the  deed.     I  suppose,  sir,  you 
are  very  rich ;  and  yet  you  now  see  that  all  the  wealth  in  the 
world  cannot  help  a  man  in  certain  situations.     I  had  a  pretty 
education,  sir;  and  I  remember  when  I  was  a  boy  at  school, 
to  have  read  the  history  of  a  great  king,  who,  when  harassed 
by  the  enemy,  and  being  overcome  with  thirst,  was  thankful 
to  a  poor  soldier  who  brought  him  a  draught  of  cold  water  in 
his  helmet,  which  he  drank  off  greedily,  saying,  that  amidst 
all  his  pomp  he  had  never  tasted  such  luxury  as  that  cup  of 
water  yielded  him.     So  you  see,  sir,  what  strange  ups  and 
downs  there  are  in  life :  therefore,  people  of  all  degrees  should 
be  careful  to  keep  pride  out  of  their  hearts,  since  the  most 
prosperous  man  to-day  may  be  thankful  for  the  poor  man's 
assistance  to-morrow."     "  And  after  all,"  cried  Betty  Rogers, 
"  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  should  pray  daily  for  God's 
grace,  since  that  alone  can  give  peace  to  their  poor  souls  when 
the  hour  of  affliction  cometh.     But  bless  me,"  cried  she,  clasp- 
ing hands,  "  what  shall  we  do  1    our  last  inch  of  candle  is 
burnt  out !"  "Then,"  said  Rogers,  "  we  must  content  ourselves, 
my  Betty,  with  passing  the  rest  of  the  night  in  the  dark." 

The  gentleman  said  he  must  be  content  to  do  as  they  did. 
"  ;Many  is  the  dark  night,  sir,"  said  Richard,  "  have  I  sat  by 
my  dame's  bed-side  when  she  has  been  sick  or  lying-in,  endea- 


DILIGENT  DICK.  345 

voiiring  to  make  np  to  her  in  kindness  wliat  I  could  not  pro- 
vide for  her  in  comforts,  when  I  have  not  had  the  least  glim- 
mering of  light  but  what  came  from  the  tvdnkling  stars 
through  our  tattered  casement. 

"  Amidst  all  our  poverty,  sir,  we  have  ever  been  the  happiest 
pair  in  each  other.  It  is  a  brave  thing,  sir,  to  be  able,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  to  drive  pride  out  of  the  cottage  when  poverty 
enters  in,  for  sin  is  the  father  of  shame.  A  man,  sir,  amidst 
the  extremest  poverty,  yet  may  stand  high  in  the  favour  of 
God,  by  patience,  prayer,  and  a  hearty  faith  in  his  Redeemer.'' 

Here  the  stranger  appeared  under  very  great  distress  both 
of  body  and  mind;  he  sliivered  all  over  as  if  he  had  an  ague- 
fit  upon  him,  and  by  a  little  blast  which  was  just  then  lighted 
up,  they  perceived  he  looked  as  pale  as  death;  they  begged 
him  to  lie  down  on  their  bed,  saying,  "it  was  very  clean, 
though  it  was  ill  provided  with  sheets  and  blankets."  '-O 
my  good  people,"  cried  the  gentleman,  "  your  goodness  will  be 
the  death  of  me ;  the  kindness  of  your  hearts  proves  to  me  the 
unkindness  of  my  own.  Go,  go  you  to  bed,  and  let  me  sit 
here  till  morning."  "  That,"  Rogers  said,  "  they  could  not 
do."  The  gentleman  then  replied,  ''he  should  be  glad  if 
Rogers  would  give  him  a  little  history  of  himself  and  family, 
to  beguile  the  time." 

"  That  I  will  do  most  readily,  sir,"  said  he,  "  if  so  be  it  will 
oblige  you  in  the  least. 

"  ^ly  name  is  Rogers,  although  my  neighbours  are  pleased 
to  call  me  Diligent  Dick.  I  have  a  wife  and  seven  children ; 
I  rise  with  the  lark,  and  lie  down  with  the  lamb.  I  never 
spend  an  idle  penny  or  an  idle  moment ;  though  my  family  is 
numerous,  my  children  were  never  a  burden  to  me.  That 
good  woman  there,  sir  (pointing  to  his  wife),  puts  her  hand  to 
the  labouring  oar ;  she  brings  up  her  children  at  home  in  such 
a  sober,  industrious  manner,  that  our  neighbours,  as  soon  as 
they  are  capable  of  earning  a  penny,  are  glad  to  take  them  off 


346  THE  LAITY. 

our  hands.  I  am  proud  to  say,  sir,  tliey  have  no  little  pilfering 
tricks,  as  many  children  have.  '  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way 
he  should  go,'  is  our  way,  sir ;  and  I  am  certain  both  my  wife 
and  I  have  felt  the  benefit  of  the  text — for  our  children  are 
kind  and  affectionate  towards  each  other,  dutiful  to  us  their 
parents,  and  obliging  and  ci^dl  to  their  employers.  Ah,  sir, 
the  richest  man  in  England  is  not  happier  than  I  am,  when  I 
return  home  of  an  evening,  wearied  by  the  heat  and  labour  of 
the  day,  to  be  received  with  looks  of  kindness  by  my  vrife,  as 
she  is  preparing  our  frugal  supper,  whilst  two  or  three  of  my 
little  babies  climb  my  knees  to  fondle  me  round  the  neck." 
[Again  the  traveller  groaned  piteously,  but  Rogers  went  on.] 
"  I  was  born  to  a  pretty  fortune,  sir,  but  by  the  villany  of  my 
father's  brother  I  lost  my  inheritance.  My  uncle,  Charles 
Eogers,  through  the  indulgence  of  his  mother,  proved  to  be  a 
very  malicious  child,  and,  as  he  grew  up  to  a  man  s  estate,  the 
faults  of  the  child  became  hardened  vices  in  the  man,  inso- 
much that  his  wicked  behaviour  broke  his  mother's  heart. 
My  own  dear  mother,  sir,  like  the  parents  of  Samuel,  taught 
me  betimes  to  fear  the  Lord  ;  yet  my  grandfather  was  so  much 
offended  at  my  father's  marrying  her,  that  he  made  his  will, 
and  cut  him  off  with  a  shilling.  He  and  my  poor  mother  died 
within  a  twelvemonth  of  each  other,  and  left  me  penniless  by 
the  time  all  their  debts  were  paid.  I  was  then  about  twelve 
years  of  age,  and  my  Betty's  father  kindly  took  me  to  live  with 
him.  He  soon  received  a  message  from  my  grandfather,  -with 
a  present  of  twenty  guineas  to  pay  for  my  board,  saying  he 
was  very  ill,  and  that  he  would  send  for  me  when  he  was 
better.  The  next  news  I  heard  of  him  was  that  he  was  dead ; 
and  though  he  had  promised  to  make  a  will  in  my  favour,  yet 
none  was  to  be  found,  althouoh  one  of  his  old  servants  de- 
clared  he  had  signed  a  great  sheet  of  parchment,  which  a  law- 
yer had  been  writing  by  my  grandfather's  bed-side.  Every- 
body now  judged  my  uncle  Charles  very  hardly,  as  having 


DILIGENT  DICK.  347 

made  away  with  this  last  will,  because  he  brought  forward  the 
old  one,  wherein  my  grandfather  had  left  his  whole  property  to 
him.  Some  kind  friends  of  my  father  wishing  to  see  justice 
done  by  me,  commenced  an  action  against  both  him  and  the 
lawyer,  who  was  known  to  be  a  rogue,  and  ready  to  do  any 
dirty  work  for  money. 

"The  trial  was  brought  on  at  the  next  assizes,  when  my 
uncle  employed  such  arts  in  securmg  the  witnesses,  that  a  ver- 
dict was  given  against  me.  After  some  months,  however,  my 
uncle  sent  me  twenty  guineas  that  I  might  be  put  apprentice 
to  a  carpenter,  but  desired  he  might  never  be  troubled  about 
me  again.  Accordingly  I  was  bound  out;  but  my  master 
proved  one  of  those  negligent  tradesmen  who  loved  his  ease 
better  than  his  work :  by  neglecting  his  business  his  business 
began  to  neglect  him.  He  broke  at  length  for  a  considerable 
sum  of  money,  and  was  thrown  into  prison,  where  he  died  soon 
after  of  the  jail  distemper  ;  so,  at  the  end  of  the  third  year  of 
my  apprenticeship,  I  was  once  more  left  to  seek  for  bread. 
I  returned  again  to  my  Betty's  father,  who  got  me  employment 
under  his  master.  I  was  about  one  and  twenty  when  I  mar- 
ried, and  then  I  and  my  wife  followed  my  master's  son  into 
this  county,  who  had  an  estate  left  him,  and  with  him  I  have 
worked  ever  since,  and  with  truth  I  can  say,  I  have  never  re- 
ceived an  unkind  w^ord  from  him,  for  he  never  saw  me  drunk, 
not  even  at  sheep-shearing,  or  harvest-home.  My  Betty's 
pious  meekness,  sir,  has  sweetened  all  my  toil,  whilst  the 
dutiful  behaviour  of  my  children  has  fulfilled  every  wish  of  my 
heart.  Whether  my  cruel  uncle  be  dead  or  lining,  I  know  not; 
but  be  it  as  it  may,  I  do  not  envy  him  his  ill-gotten  wealth; 
and  I  can  only  pray  that  he  may  repent  him  of  his  sins  before 
sickness  brings  him  to  a  death-bed ;  for  it  is  a  horrible  thing, 
sir,  to  have  the  conscience  racked  with  despair,  when  the  body 
is  afilicted  with  pain." 

"  Look,  Eichard,"  cried  Betty  Eogers,  "  you  are  talking  on 


348  THE  LAITY. 

and  on,  whilst  I  am  sure  the  poor  gentleman  is  going  into  a 
fit."  The  gentleman  at  that  instant  gave  a  deep  groan,  and 
would  have  fallen  from  his  chair,  if  Eogers  had  not  caught  him 
in  his  arms ;  his  wife  snatching  up  his  little  mug  of  tea,  which 
she  still  kept  warm  in  the  ashes,  she  put  it  to  the  stranger's 
lips,  begging  him  to  take  a  sip,  as  she  was  sure  it  would  do 
him  good;  whilst  her  husband,  on  the  other  hand,  begged  him 
to  eat  a  bit  of  the  toast.  The  gentleman  could  but  just  make 
shift  to  say,  "My  good  people,  you  are  too  kind  to  me." 
"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Rogers,  "  we  do  no  more  for  you  than 
we  would  for  our  worst  enemy."  "  0  God,"  cried  the  traveller, 
"what  will  become  of  me?  My  sight  fails  me,  my  flesh 
trembles,  and  my  joints  ache;  I  freeze  and  burn  at  the  same 
moment!" 

"  Poor  dear  gentleman,"  said  Betty  Rogers,  wiping  her  eyes, 
"  I  am  afraid  he  is  going  light-headed ;  do,  pray,  sir,  drink  a 
drop  more  of  the  tea," — "  and  eat  a  bit  of  the  toast  also," 
added  Richard.  *'I  dare  not  taste  it,  my  good  friends,"  re- 
plied the  gentleman,  "  for  I  feel  as  if  it  would  choke  me,  were 
I  to  attempt  it ;  but  tell  me,  I  pray,  is  there  not  somewhere  a 
text  of  Scripture  which  says,  'If  thine  enemy  hunger,  feed 
him ;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  drink :  for  in  so  doing,  thou  shalt 
heap  coals  of  fire  on  his  head?'  O  Rogers,  Rogers,  thou  "vvilt 
say,  indeed,  thou  art  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  my  head,  when 
thou  art  told  I  am  thy  wicked  uncle  Charles!" 

Here  Rogers  and  his  wife  had  nearly  swooned  away  with 
astonishment.  "  Then  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you,  uncle," 
cried  Rogers;  "and  if  you  have  really  done  me  wrong,  I  for- 
give you  with  all  my  soul,  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  myself" 

Here  jNIr  Rogers's  grief  ajipeared  so  great,  he  seemed  almost 
beside  himself.  "But  do  not  be  surprised,"  cried  he,  as  soon 
as  he  could  speak,  "to  see  me  here;  it  is  not  by  accident;  this 
is  the  second  attempt  I  have  made,  Rogers,  to  visit  thy  humble 
dwelUng;  but  more  of  that  hereafter."     In  about  a  quarter  of 


DILIGENT  DICK.  349 

an  hour,  Mr  Rogers,  after  sliedding  bitter  tears,  spoke  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  yiy  neighbours,  Richard,  have  long  believed  me  to  be  a 
very  hapj^y  man,  seeing  that  I  possessed  an  abundance  of  the 
good  things  of  this  world ;  but  wdiat  man  ever  yet  was  happy 
who  carried  secret  guilt  in  his  bosom  ?  Thy  grandfather,  on 
his  deathbed,  became  duly  sensible  of  his  unforgiving  spirit 
toward  thy  poor  father,  for  no  other  crime  had  he  committed 
than  having  married  a  woman  who  brought  him  no  money  : 
he  therefore  resolved  that  the  last  business  of  his  life  should 
be  doing  an  act  of  justice  towards  thee  his  only  son ;  accord- 
ingly he  sent  for  his  attorney,  made  a  new  Avill,  becjueathing 
thee  that  property  which  he  would  have  given  thy  father  had 
he  been  living ;  he  also  desired  much  to  see  thee,  which  I  took 
especial  care  to  prevent,  fearing  thy  youth  and  innocence 
would  win  upon  his  love.  After  his  decease,  by  the  advice, 
and  with  the  assistance,  of  his  rogue  of  an  attorney,  we  burnt 
my  father's  last  will,  and  produced  that  which  he  had  made 
many  years  before,  wherein  he  had  cut  thy  father  off  with  a 
shilling.  The  deed  was  no  sooner  done,  than  I  felt,  as  it  w^ere, 
all  the  torments  of  hell  raging  in  my  soul ;  it  was  done  at  the 
very  moment  the  people  were  laying  my  aged  father's  body 
in  the  coffin."  Here  Mr  Rogers  grew  so  faint  he  could  not 
go  on. 

"  Merciful  heaven !"  cried  Richard,  with  hands  and  eyes 
uplifted,  "  how  covetousness  hardens  the  heart  of  man  !  What 
a  safeguard  has  my  poverty  been  to  me  !  riches  might  have 
ensnared  my  soul  too."  As  soon  as  Mr  Rogers  could  speak, 
he  went  on. 

"  Thou  hast  just  mentioned,  Richard,  the  trial  that  was 
brought  forward  after  my  father's  decease,  respecting  his  "will, 
when  the  attorney,  to  whom  I  was  to  pay  five  hundred  pounds 
for  the  villanous  part  he  had  acted,  swore  he  never  had  made 
a  second  will  for  my  father,  and  I  swore  to  the  same  effect ; 

VOL.  IV.  2  G 


350  THE  LAITY, 

yes,  RicliarJ,  I  swore  upon  the  Holy  Bible — that  Bible  which 
l^ronounces  a  deadly  curse  on  him  that  swears  falsely ;  yea,  I 
called  on  that  eternal  God  to  witness  a  lie,  before  whom  I 
must  shortly  be  judged  for  it ;  and  now  my  grey  hairs  are 
brought  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  I  begin  to  feel  that  the 
sting  of  death  is  sin ;  very  miserable  has  been  my  life,  and 
very  terrible,  no  doubt,  will  be  my  death.  Being  now  in  pos- 
session of  a  clear  .£400  a-year,  I  began  to  fancy  all  things 
would  go  prosperously  and  swimmingly  on ;  I  bought  and 
sold,  and  no  man's  traffic  seemed  to  turn  to  better  account ; 
but  no  success  in  life,  Richard,  could  blunt  the  sting  of  guilt 
within  me ;  when  I  laid  me  down  to  rest  at  night,  I  feared  to 
trust  myself  to  sleep,  lest  I  should  betray  the  secret ;  and  my 
very  dreams  became  so  disturbed,  that  the  servants  would 
often  hear  my  screams  at  the  other  end  of  the  house. 

"  One  night  I  dreamt  I  was  going  to  be  executed  for  de- 
stroying a  will,  and  the  next  I  foncied  I  was  going  to  be  tran- 
sported for  perjury.  All  my  neighbours  believed  me  to  be  a 
happy  man,  only  because  they  saw  me  a  prosperous  one.  My 
covetous  desires  were  never  satisfied,  and,  wliilst  I  went  on 
heaping  up  guinea  upon  guinea,  my  mind  was  hourly  afflicted 
with  the  dread  of  poverty.  My  wife  all  of  a  sudden  gTCW 
melancholy,  and,  by  an  accident,  she  fell  into  the  j^ond  and  was 
drowned.  When  my  son  came  of  age,  I  settled  on  him  the 
estate  which  my  fsither  in  his  will  had  left  to  thee ;  he  was  a 
dissolute  young  man,  and  coming  home  one  night  very  much 
intoxicated  with  liquor,  he  fell  across  the  bed  with  a  lighted 
candle  in  his  hand,  which  instantly  set  fire  to  the  curtains,  and 
he  perished  in  the  flames.  One  of  my  daughters  turned  out 
very  vicious,  and  the  other  died  of  a  broken  heart,  from  the 
cruel  usage  of  her  husband.  Besides  all  these  trials,  I  had 
another  very  severe  one  from  the  attorney,  who  was  always 
racking  me  for  more  money,  and  telling  me  he  would  turn 
king  s  evidence,  and  impeach  me,  if  ever  I  refused  him. 


DILIGENT  DICK.  35 1 

"  At  length,  without  a  moment  given  him  for  repentance, 
he  was  suddenly  carried  off  by  a  paralytic  stroke.  ^ly  spirits 
began  to  re-sive  after  his  death,  as  my  crime  now  was  known 
only  to  myself ;  but  peace  can  never  dwell  in  the  guilty  bosom. 
I  left  off  going  to  church,  for  there  my  condemnation  stared 
me  full  in  the  face.  The  ten  commandments  were  written  in 
golden  letters  on  each  side  of  the  altar ;  then  my  own  mcked 
conscience  would  whisper  me  how  many  of  those  sacred  com- 
mands I  had  broken ;  I  had  taken  the  holy  name  of  God  in 
vain,  I  had  profaned  the  Sabbath,  I  had  been  undutiful  to  my 
parents,  I  had  borne  false  witness  against  my  neighbour.  At 
length,  however,  so  grievously  burdened  was  my  conscience, 
that  I  resolved  occasionally  to  attend  church,  hoping  it  would 
be  a  kind  of  sponge  to  rub  out  some  of  my  sins.  One  Sunday, 
I  remember  our  parson  told  us  in  his  sermon,  there  can  be  no 
real  repentance  for  sin  without  forsaking  it ;  adding,  moreover, 
that  if  any  of  his  congregation  had  defrauded  liis  neighbour  of 
aught,  he  entreated  them,  if  ever  they  hoped  their  souls  would 
find  mercy  in  the  day  of  grace,  that  they  should  make  restitu- 
tion, before  death  should  cut  them  off  from  the  land  of  the 
living,  since  there  was  no  repentance  in  the  grave. 

"  These  words  so  worked  upon  my  mind,  that  I  fell  sick, 
and  during  my  sickness  I  called  on  heaven  to  witness,  that,  if 
life  were  granted  me,  I  would  restore  to  thee  what  I  had  so 
unjustly  kept  from  thee;  but  as  my  health  returned,  so  did  my 
good  resolutions  vanish  away  again ;  I  cheated  myself  with  the 
thought  that  I  might  yet  enjoy  life  many  years :  thus  I  went 
on  till  the  restless  workings  of  my  conscience  almost  over- 
powered me ;  and  having  inquired  out  the  place  of  thy  abode, 
mounted  my  horse,  and  set  out  with  the  resolution  to  discover 
the  whole  history  of  my  villany  to  thee;  but  when  I  came 
within  sight  of  thy  cottage,  I  found  my  principles  were  not 
strong  enough  to  bring  me  to  confess  myself  a  rogue  before 
thee ;  I  turned  my  horse  about,  and  went  home  again.     I  next 


352 


THE  LAITY. 


took  to  hard  drinking,  to  stifle  reflection,  but  all  would  not 
do,  for  still  tlie  gnawings  of  a  guilty  conscience  devoured  me  : 
as  my  health  declined,  the  stronger  the  fear  of  death  came 
upon  me.  Again  I  resolved  once  more  to  go  in  search  of  thee, 
and  earnestly  did  I  pray  to  God  to  assist  my  endeavours;  and 
the  nearer  I  ai^proached  to  thy  little  dwelling  the  more  was 
my  courage  strengthened  to  proceed.  The  sudden  fall  of  snow 
coming  on  was  the  cause  of  my  being  benighted,  and,  missing 
my  way,  I  fell  into  the  pit;  but  ah!  Richard,  it  seems  as  if 
Heaven  had  appointed  thee  to  preserve  my  life  in  this  world, 
and  my  soul  from  destruction  in  the  next,  by  jDointing  out  to 
me  the  only  path  in  which  a  penitent  sinner  can  tread  with 
safety.  It  is  not  for  mortal  man,  Richard,  to  tell  what  agony 
of  mind  I  have  endured  this  night :  thy  kindness  and  that  of 
thy  wife  nearly  overcame  me,  and  I  the  less  feared  to  make  a 
discover}^  of  ni3-self  to  thee,  when  I  found  every  action  of  thy 
daily  life  was  governed  by  the  principles  of  religion ;  I  know 
Christianity  alone  tan  teach  men  heartily  to  forgive  their  ene- 
mies. 

"  O  Rogers !  Rogers !  how  blest  is  thy  condition,  when  com- 
pared with  mine !  if  thou  art  poor,  thou  art  honest ;  in  addition 
to  a  quiet  conscience,  thou  hast  a  healthful  and  happy  family 
smiling  around  thee.  I  abound  in  wealth,  it  is  true,  but  my 
health  is  gone  ;  I  have  lost  my  rest,  and  I  carry  in  my  bosom 
the  sharp  goadings  of  a  wounded  spirit,  which  I  am  unable 
to  bear." 

Here  !Mr  Rogers  finished  his  melancholy  history,  at  which 
both  Rogers  and  his  wife  shed  abundance  of  tears,  and  at  the 
same  time  they  did  all  in  their  2:)ower  to  comfort  him.  The 
next  day  Rogers  attended  his  uncle  home,  Avhen  he  sent  for 
the  clergyman  of  his  parish;  Rogers  made  a  full  confession  of 
his  guilt  to  him,  hoping  he  would  give  him  his  best  advice 
how  to  fit  and  prepare  himself  for  another  world.  Mr  Rogers 
lived  but  a  few  weeks  after  this,  and  died  full  of  horror  at  the 


MR  WILBEEFOECE.  353 

sins  of  bis  past  life,  and  earnestly  imploring  mercy  from  the 
Saviour  of  sinners. 

How  mysterious  are  tlie  ways  of  Providence,  wlio  in  an  in- 
stant can  bring,  tbe  most  secret  plots  to  light !  and  how  does 
the  eye  of  God  pursue  us !  "  If  we  say,  Peradventure  the  dark- 
ness shall  cover  us,  then  shall  our  night  be  turned  into  day : 
the  darkness  and  the  light  to  him  are  both  alike." 

WILLIAM  WILBEEFOECE. 

On  the  12th  of  April,  1797,  was  published,  "  A  Practical 
View  of  the  Prevailing  Religious  System  of  Professed  Chris- 
tians in  the  Higher  and  Middle  Classes  of  this  Country,  con- 
trasted with  Real  Christianity.     By  William  AVilbeefoece, 
Esq.,  Member  of  Parliament  for  the  county  of  York."  At  that 
time,  the  demand  for  religious   books  was  very  small;  but 
Mr  Cadall,   the  publisher,  said  to  the  author,  "  You  mean  to 
put  your  name  to  the  work  ?     Then,  I  think,  we  may  venture 
upon  500  copies."     However,  in  the  course  of  half  a  year,  five 
editions  were  called  for,  representing  7500  copies;  and  through- 
out the  remaining  life  of  its  eloquent  and  amiable  author,  it 
continued  to  be  in  extensive  demand,  and  probably  contributed 
more  than  any  other  book  to  awaken  attention  to  the  one  thing 
needful  among  the  upper  classes  of  society.     Somewhat  dif- 
fuse, and  not  very  well  arranged,  it  has,  in  our  own  tune,  been 
nearly  superseded  by  a  more  terse  and  vivid  authorship,  and 
portions  of  it  are  scarcely  applicable  to  the  state  of  things  now 
existing  ;  but  in  consideration  of  the  attention  which  it  ex- 
cited, and  the  effects  which  it  produced,  the  publication  of  the 
"Practical  View"  may  be  regarded  as  no  ordmary  event  in 
the  later  history  of  English  Christianit}'. 

Mr  Wilberforce  was  born  at  Hull,  August  24,   1759,  and 
died  at  London,  July  2),  183?. 


2  G  2 


354  THE  LAITY. 

Eaolu'nty  unto  ^rsus. 

"  Looking  unto  Jesus  ! "  Here  best  ye  may  learn-  to  grow 
in  the  love  of  God.  The  certainty  of  His  pity  and  love  towards 
repenting  sinners,  thus  irrefragably  demonstrated,  chases  away 
the  sense  of  tormenting  fear,  and  best  lays  the  ground  in  us  of 
reciprocal  affection.  And  while  we  steadily  contemplate  this 
wonderful  transaction,  and  consider,  in  its  several  relations, 
the  amazing  truth,  "that  God  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but 
delivered  him  up  for  us  all ; "  if  our  minds  be  not  utterly  dead 
to  every  impulse  of  sensibility,  the  emotions  of  admiration,  of 
preference,  of  hope,  and  trust,  and  joy,  cannot  but  spring  up 
within  us,  chastened  with  reverential  fear,  and  softened  and 
quickened  by  overflowing  gratitude.  Here  we  shall  become 
animated  by  an  abiding  disposition  to  endeavour  to  please  our 
great  Benefactor ;  and  by  a  humble  persuasion,  that  the  weak- 
est endeavours  of  this  nature  will  not  be  despised  by  a  Being 
who  has  already  proved  himself  so  kindly  affected  towards  us. 
Here  we  cannot  fail  to  imbibe  an  earnest  desire  of  possessing 
His  ftivour,  and  a  conviction,  founded  on  His  own  declarations 
thus  unquestionably  confirmed,  that  the  desire  shall  not  be 
disappointed.  Whenever  we  are  conscious  that  we  have  of- 
fended this  gracious  Being,  a  single  thought  of  the  great  work 
of  redemption  will  be  enough  to  fill  us  with  compunction.  We 
shall  feel  a  deep  concern,  grief  mingled  with  indignant  shame, 
for  having  conducted  ourselves  so  unworthily  towards  one  who 
to  us  has  been  infinite  in  kindness  :  we  shall  not  rest  till  we 
have  reason  to  hope  that  He  is  reconciled  to  us ;  and  we  shall 
watch  over  our  hearts  and  conduct  in  future  with  a  renewed 
jealousy,  lest  we  should  again  offend  Him.  To  those  who  are 
ever  so  little  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  human  mind, 
it  were  superfluous  to  remark,  that  the  affections  and  tempers 
which  have  been  enumerated  are  the  infallible  marks  of  the 
constituent  properties  of  love.     Let   him,   then,  who   would 


LOOKING  UNTO  JESUS.  355 

abound  and  grow  in  this  Christian  principle,  be  much  conver- 
sant Avith  the  great  doctrines  of  the  gospel. 

It  is  obvious,  that  the  attentive  and  frequent  consideration 
of  these  great  doctrines  must  have  a  still  more  direct  tendency 
to  produce  and  cherish  in  our  minds  the  principle  of  the  love 
of  Christ.  But  on  this  head,  so  much  has  been  already  said 
as  to  render  any  further  observations  unnecessary. 

!Much,  also,  has  been  already  observed  concerning  the  love  of 
our  fellow-creatures,  and  it  has  been  distinctly  stated  to  be  in- 
dispensable, and  indeed  the  characteristic  duty  of  Christians. 
It  remains,  however,  to  be  here  further  remarked,  that  this 
grace  can  nowhere  be  cultivated  with  more  advantage  than  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross.  Nowhere  can  our  Saviour's  dying  in- 
junction to  the  exercise  of  this  virtue  be  recollected  ^ith  more 
effect,  "  This  is  my  commandment,  that  ye  love  one  another 
as  I  have  loved  you."  No  where  can  the  admonition  of  the 
apostle  more  j)Owerfully  affect  us,  "  Be  ye  kind  one  to  another, 
tender-hearted,  forgiving  one  another,  even  as  God,  for  Christ's 
sake,  hath  forgiven  you."  The  view  of  mankind  which  is  here 
presented  to  us,  as  having  been  all  involved  in  one  common 
ruin  ;  and  the  offer  of  deliverance  held  out  to  all,  by  the  Son  of 
God's  giving  of  himself  up  to  pay  the  price  of  our  reconciliation, 
produce  that  sympathy  tov^ards  our  fellow-creatures,  which,  by 
the  constitution  of  our  nature,  seldom  fails  to  result  from  the 
consciousness  of  an  identity  of  interests  and  a  similarity  of  for- 
tunes. Pity  for  an  unthinking  world  assists  this  impression. 
Our  enmities  soften  and  melt  away  :  we  are  ashamed  of  think- 
ing much  of  the  petty  injuries  which  we  may  have  suffered, 
when  we  consider  what  the  Son  of  God,  "  who  did  no  wrons:, 
neither  was  guile  found  in  His  mouth,"  patiently  underwent. 
Our  hearts  become  tender  while  we  contemplate  this  signal  act 
of  loving-kindness.  We  grow  desirous  of  imitating  what  we 
cannot  but  admire.  A  vigorous  principle  of  enlarged  and  active 
charity  springs  up  witliin  us;  and  we  go  forth  with  alacrity, 


356  THE  LAITY. 

desirous  of  treading  in  tlie  ste^^s  of  our  blessed  Master,  and  of 
manifesting  our  gratitude  for  His  unmerited  goodness^  by  bear- 
ing each  other  s  burthens,  and  abounding  in  the  disinterested 
labours  of  benevolence. 

"  Looking  unto  Jesus  ! "  He  was  meek  and  lowly  of  heart, 
and  from  the  study  of  His  character  we  shall  best  learn  the 
lessons  of  humility.  Contemj)lating  the  v.^ork  of  redemption, 
we  become  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  sense  of  our 
natural  darkness,  and  helplessness,  and  misery,  from  which  it 
was  requisite  to  ransom  us  at  such  a  price;  more  and  more 
conscious  that  we  are  utterly  unworthy  of  all  the  amazing 
condescension  and  love  which  have  been  manifested  towards 
us;  ashamed  of  the  callousness  of  our  tenderest  sensibility, 
and  of  the  poor  returns  of  our  most  active  services.  Con- 
siderations like  these,  abating  our  pride  and  reducing  our 
opinions  of  ourselves,  naturally  moderate  our  pretensions  to- 
wards others.  We  become  less  disposed  to  exact  that  respect 
for  our  persons,  and  that  deference  for  our  authority,  which 
we  naturally  covet;  we  less  sensibly  feel  a  slight,  and  less 
hotly  resent  it;  we  grow  less  irritable,  less  prone  to  be  dis- 
satisfied; more  soft,  and  meek,  and  courteous,  and  placable, 
and  condescending.  We  are  not  literally  required  to  practise 
the  same  humiliating  submissions  to  which  our  blessed  Saviour 
himself  was  not  ashamed  to  stoop;'"'  but  the  sfjirit  of  the 
remark  applies  to  us,  "the  servant  is  not  greater  than  his 
Lord  :"  and  we  should  especially  bear  this  truth  in  mind, 
when  the  occasion  calls  upon  us  to  discharge  some  duty,  or 
patiently  to  suffer  some  ill  treatment,  whereby  our  pride  will 
be  wounded,  and  we  are  likely  to  be  in  some  degree  degraded 
from  the  rank  we  had  possessed  in  the  world's  estimation ;  at 
the  same  time  the  sacred  Scriptures  assuring  us,  that  to  the 
powerful  operations  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  purchased  fur  us  by 

*  ''  Ifl  then,  your  Lord  aad  Master,  have  v. ashed  your  feet  j  ye  also  ought 
10  wash  one  another's  feet,"  d'.c.— John  xiii.  1^-17% 


THE  CHRISTIAN  TEMPER.  357 

the  death  of  Christ,  we  must  be  indebted  for  the  success  of 
all  our  endeavours  after  improvement  in  virtue ;  the  conviction 
of  this  truth  tends  to  render  us  diffident  of  our  own  powers, 
and  to  suppress  the  first  risings  of  vanity.  Thus,  while  we 
are  conducted  to  heights  of  virtue  no  otherwise  attainable,  due 
care  is  taken  to  prevent  our  becoming  giddy  from  our  eleva- 
tion. It  is  the  Scripture  characteristic  of  the  gospel  system, 
that  by  it  all  disposition  to  exalt  ourselves  is  excluded ;  and 
if  we  really  grow  in  grace,  we  shall  grow  also  in  humility. 

''  Looking  unto  Jesus  ! "  "  He  endured  the  cross,  despising 
the  shame."  While  we  steadily  contemplate  this  solemn 
scene,  that  sober  frame  of  spirit  is  produced  within  us  which 
best  befits  the  Christian  militant  here  on  earth.  We  become 
impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  shortness  and  uncertainty  of 
time,  and  that  it  behoves  us  to  be  diligent  in  making  provision 
for  eternity.  In  such  a  temper  of  mind,  the  pomps  and 
vanities  of  life  are  cast  behind  us  as  the  baubles  of  children. — 
We  lose  our  relish  for  the  frolics  of  gaiety,  the  race  of  ambi- 
tion, or  the  grosser  gratifications  of  voluptuousness.  In  the 
case  even  of  those  objects  which  may  more  justly  claim  the 
attention  of  reasonable  and  immortal  beings — in  our  family 
arrangements,  in  our  plans  of  life,  in  our  schemes  of  business 
— we  become,  -uithout  relinquishing  the  path  of  duty,  more 
moderate  in  pursuit,  and  more  indifferent  about  the  issue. 
Here,  also,  we  learn  to  correct  the  world's  false  estimate  of 
things,  and  to  "  look  through  the  shallowness  of  earthly 
grandeur]"  to  venerate  what  is  truly  excellent  and  noble, 
though  under  a  despised  and  degraded  form ;  and  to  cultivate 
within  ourselves  that  true  magnanimity  which  can  make  us 
rise  superior  to  the  smiles  or  frowns  of  this  world ;  that  digni- 
fied composure  of  soul  which  no  earthly  incidents  can  destroy 
or  ruffle.  Instead  of  repining  at  any  of  the  little  occasional 
inconveniences  we  may  meet  ■with  in  our  passage  through  life, 
we  are  almost  ashamed  of  the  multiplied  comforts  and  enjoy- 


358  THE  LAITY. 

ments  of  our  condition,  wlien  we  think  of  Him,  who,  though 
'-  the  Lord  of  glory,"  ''  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head."  And 
if  it  be  our  lot  to  undergo  evils  of  more  than  ordinary  magni- 
tude, we  are  animated  under  them  by  reflecting,  that  we  are 
hereby  more  conformed  to  the  example  of  our  blessed  Master : 
though  we  must  ever  recollect  one  important  difference,  that 
the  sufferings  of  Christ  were  voluntarily  borne  for  our  benefit, 
and  were  probably  far  more  exquisitely  agonising  than  any 
which  we  are  called  upon  to  undergo.  Besides,  it  must  be  a 
solid  support  to  us  amidst  all  our  troubles  to  know,  that  they 
do  not  happen  to  us  by  chance ;  that  they  are  not  even  merely 
the  punishment  of  sin ;  but  that  they  are  the  dispensations  of 
a  kind  Providence,  and  sent  on  messages  of  mercy — "  The  cup 
that  our  Father  hath  given  us,  shall  we  not  drink  it  ? " — 
"  Blessed  Saviour  !  by  the  bitterness  of  Thy  pains  we  may 
estimate  the  force  of  Thy  love;  we  are  sure  of  Thy  kindness 
and  compassion;  Thou  wouldst  not  wilhngly  call  on  us  to 
suffer;  Thou  hast  declared  unto  us,  that  all  things  shall  finally 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  Thee ;  and  therefore, 
if  Thou  so  ordainest  it,  welcome  disappointment  and  poverty, 
welcome  sickness  and  pain,  welcome  even  shame,  and  contempt, 
and  calumny.  If  this  be  a  rough  and  thorny  path,  it  is  one 
in  which  Thou  hast  gone  before  us.  Where  we  see  Thy  foot- 
steps we  cannot  repine.  Meanwhile,  Thou  wilt  support  us 
with  the  consolations  of  Thy  grace ;  and  even  here  Thou  canst 
more  than  compensate  to  us  for  any  temporal  sufferings,  by 
the  possession  of  that  peace  which  the  world  can  neither  give 
nor  take  away." 

"  Looking  unto  Jesus  ! "  "  The  Author  and  Finisher  of  our 
fiiith,  who  for  the  joy  that  was  set  before  Him  endured  the 
cross,  despising  the  shame,  and  is  set  down  at  the  right  hand 
of  God."  From  the  scene  of  our  Saviour's  weakness  and  de- 
gradation, we  follow  Him,  in  idea,  into  the  realms  of  glory, 
where  "  He  is  on  the  right  hand  of  God ;  angels,  and  princi- 


THE  BLESSED  HOPE.  359 

palities,  and  powers  being  made  subject  unto  Him."  But  though 
changed  in  place,  yet  not  in  nature ;  He  is  still  full  of  sjTnpathy 
and  love ;  and  having  died  "  to  save  His  people  from  their 
sins,"  "  He  ever  liveth  to  make  intercession  for  them."  Cheered 
by  this  animating  view,  the  Christian's  fainting  spirits  revive. 
Under  the^hea\iest  burdens  he  feels  his  strength  recruited  j 
and  when  all  around  him  is  dark  and  stormy,  he  can  lift  up  an 
eye  to  heaven,  radiant  with  hope,  and  glistening  with  grati- 
tude. At  such  a  season,  no  dangers  can  alarm,  no  opposition 
can  move,  no  provocations  can  irritate.  He  may  almost  adopt, 
as  the  language  of  his  sober  exultation,  what  in  the  philospher 
was  but  an  idle  rant ;  and,  considering  that  it  is  only  the  gar- 
ment of  mortality  which  is  subject  to  the  rents  of  fortune — 
while  his  spirit,  cheered  with  the  Divine  support,  keeps  its 
place  within,  secure  and  unassailable — he  can  sometimes  almost 
triumph  at  the  stake,  or  on  the  scaffold,  and  cry  out  amidst 
the  severest  buffets  of  adversity,  "  Thou  beatest  but  the  case  of 
Anaxarchus."  But  it  is  rarely  that  the  Christian  is  elevated 
with  this  "joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory  :  "  he  even  lends 
himself  to  these  \iews  with  moderation  and  reserve.  Often, 
alas  !  emotions  of  another  kind  fill  him  with  grief  and  con- 
fusion :  and  conscious  of  having  acted  unworthy  of  his  high 
calling,  perhaps  of  having  exposed  himself  to  the  just  censure 
of  a  world  ready  enough  to  spy  out  his  infirmities,  he  seems  to 
himself  almost  "  to  have  crucified  the  Son  of  God  afresh,  and 
put  Him  to  an  open  shame."  But  let  neither  his  joys  intoxi- 
cate, nor  his  sorrows  too  much  depress  him.  Let  him  still  re- 
member that  his  chief  business  while  on  earth  is  not  to  medi- 
tate, but  to  act  j  that  the  seeds  of  moral  corruption  are  apt  to 
spring  up  within  him,  and  that  it  is  requsite  for  him  to  watch 
over  his  own  heart  with  incessant  care ;  that  he  is  to  discharge 
with  fidelity  the  duties  of  his  particular  station,  and  to  conduct 
himself,  according  to  his  measure,  after  the  example  of  his 
blessed  blaster,  whose  meat  and  drink  it  was  to  do  the  work  of 


360  THE  LAITY. 

His  heavenly  Father ;  that  he  is  diligently  to  cultiviite  the 
talents  Avith  which  God  has  entrusted  him,  and  assiduously  to 
employ  them  in  doing  justice  and  shewmg  mercy,  while  he 
guards  against  the  assaults  of  any  internal  enemy.  In  short, 
he  is  to  demean  himself,  in  all  the  common  affairs  of  life,  like 
an  accountable  creature,  who,  in  correspondence  with  the  Scrip- 
ture character  of  Christians,  is  "  waiting  for  the  coming  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ."  Often,  therefore,  he  questions  himself, 
"  Am  I  employing  my  tune,  my  fortune,  my  bodily  and  mental 
powers,  so  as  to  be  able  to  '  render  ujd  my  account  with  joy, 
and  not  with  grief?'  Am  I  '^adorning  the  doctrine  of  God 
my  fSa\dour  in  all  things ; '  and  proving  that  the  servants  of 
Christ,  animated  by  a  principle  of  filial  affection,  which  renders 
their  work  a  service  of  jDcrfect  freedom,  are  capable  of  as  active 
and  as  persevering  exertions,  as  the  votaries  of  fame,  or  the 
slaves  of  ambition,  or  the  drudges  of  avarice  ? " 


SACKED  POETRY. 

MATTHEW  PRIOR. 

In  tlie  eiglateentli  century,  some  valuable  additions  were  made 
to  our  stores  of  sacred  minstrelsy,  by  authors  who,  in  the 
stricter  sense  of  the  word,  were  scarcely  Christian  poets. 
Perhaps  it  is  for  this  reason  that  Mr  Montgomery,  in  his 
"  Christian  Poet,"  has  given  no  specimen  of  Prior ;  but  we 
think  it  would  be  almost  as  unfair  to  ignore  his  "  Solomon,"  as 
to  deprive  ouf  readers  of  Pope's  "  Messiah."  Like  an  airy  up- 
land in  the  midst  of  an  unwholesome  jungle,  such  a  i^roduction 
is  a  welcome  retreat  from  the  frivolity  and  ribaldry  in  the  midst 
of  which  it  occurs ;  nor  should  it  lessen  the  value  of  the  work 
that  most  of  its  thoughts  and  images  are  borrowed  from  Eccle- 
siastes  and  the  Canticles.  The  form  of  a  soliloquy,  into  wliich  the 
author  has  thrown  the  poem,  makes  the  three  books  rather  tedi- 
ous ;  but  the  reader's  perseverance  is  often  rewarded  by  passages 
vigorously  emphasised  or  finely  pointed,  and  the  flattest  inter- 
vals, with  their  melodious  verse  and  happy  diction,  convey  a 
certain  pleasure,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  i3revailing  monotony. 
Matthew  Prior  was  born  July  21,  1664,  and  died  at 
Wimple,  near  Cambridge,  then  the  seat  of  Lord  Oxford,  Sep- 
tember 18,  1721. 


Efiz  Fani'tg  of  Science. 

Forced  by  reflective  reason,  I  confess 

That  human  science  is  uncertain  guess. 

Alas !  we  grasp  at  clouds,  and  beat  the  air, 

Vexing  that  spirit  we  intend  to  clear. 

Can  thought  beyond  the  bounds  of  matter  climb? 

Or  who  shall  tell  me  what  is  space  or  time  ? 

VOL.  IV.  2  H 


362  SACRED  POETRY. 

In  vain  we  lift  up  our  presumptuous  eyes 

To  what  our  Maker  to  their  ken  denies  : 

The  searcher  follo^YS  fast ;  the  object  faster  flies. 

The  little  wliich  imperfectly  we  find, 

Seduces  only  the  bewilder'd  mind 

To  fruitless  search  of  son       '   i:  yet  behind. 

A'arious  discussions  tear  ou.      ated  brain  : 

Opinions  often  turn  ;  still  doub.s  remain  ; 

And  who  indulges  thought  increases  pain. 

How  narrow  limits  were  to  Wisdom  given  ! 
Earth  she  surveys  ;  she  thence  would  measure  Heaven 
Through  mists  obscure  now  wings  her  tedious  way ; 
Now  wanders  dazzled  w^ith  too  bright  a  day ; 
And  from  the  summit  of  a  pathless  coast, 
Sees  infinite,  and  in  that  sight  is  lost. 

Remember  that  the  cursed  desire  to  know, 
Offspring  of  Adam  !  was  thy  source  of  woe. 
Why  wilt  thou  then  renew  the  vain  pursuit, 
And  rashly  catch  at  the  forbidden  fruit  V 
With  empty  labour  and  eluded  strife 
Seeking,  by  knowledge,  to  attain  to  life  : 
For  ever  from  that  fatal  tree  debarr'd. 
Which  flaming  swords  and  angry  cherubs  guard. 


Castl£-'2Sitiltim5. 

The  power  of  wealth  I  tried, 
And  all  the  various  luxe  of  costly  pride. 
Artists  and  plans  relieved  my  solemn  hours  ; 
I  founded  palaces,  and  planted  bowers. 
Birds,  fishes,  beasts  of  each  exotic  kind, 
I  to  the  limits  of  my  court  confined. 
To  trees  transferr'd  I  gave  a  second  birth, 
And  bid  a  foreign  shade  grace  Judah's  earth  ; 
rish-ponds  were  made  Avhere  former  forests  grew, 
And  hills  were  levell'd  to  extend  the  view. 
Rivers  diverted  from  their  native  course, 
And  bound  with  chains  of  artificial  force. 
From  large  cascades  in  pleasing  tumult  roU'd, 
Or  rose  through  figured  stones,  or  breathing  gold. 


PRIOPv's  "  SOLOMON.  '  363 

From  furthest  Africa's  tormented  womb 

The  marble  brought,  erects  the  spacious  dome  ; 

Or  forms  the  pillars'  long  extended  rows, 

On  which  the  planted  grove,  and  pensile  garden  grows. 

The  workmen  here  obey'd  the  master's  call, 
To  gild  the  turret,  a'  '     -ipaint  the  wall ; 
To  mark  the  pavem(      iiiere  with  various  stone. 
And  on  the  jasper-^^teps  to  rear  the  throne  : 
The  spreading  cedar  that  an  age  had  stood, 
Supreme  of  trees,  and  mistress  of  the  wood. 
Cut  down  and  carved,  my  shining  roof  adorns. 
And  Lebanon  his  ruiu'd  honour  mourns. 

A  thousand  artists  shew  their  cunning  power, 
To  raise  the  wonders  of  the  ivory  tower. 
A  thousand  maidens  ply  the  purple  loom. 
To  weave  the  bed,  and  deck  the  regal  room ; 
Till  Tyre  confesses  her  exhausted  store, 
That  on  her  coast  the  murex  is  no  more  ; 
Till  from  the  Parian  isle,  and  Libya's  coast. 
The  mountains  grieve  their  hopes  of  marble  lost ; 
And  Lidia's  woods  return  their  just  complaint, 
Their  brood  decay'd,  and  want  of  elephant. 

My  full  design  with  vast  expense  achieved, 
I  came,  beheld,  admired,  reflected,  grieved  ; 
I  chid  the  folly  of  my  thoughtless  haste, 
For,  the  work  perfected,  the  joy  was  past. 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 

Satirist,  pliilosopher,  and  critic,  the  translator  of  Homer  and 
the  imitator  of  Horace,  there  was  nothing  which  the  bard  of 
Twickenham  deemed  beyond  his  powers,  and  of  all  which  he 
attempted  nothing  proved  an  absolute  failure.  Even  the  l}Te 
of  David  and  Isaiah  he  ventured  to  handle,  and  to  his  touch 
the  chords  were  musical.  In  reading  verses  like  the  follow- 
ing, we  forget  the  conceited  correspondent  of  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montague,  and  we  wish  to  forget  the  irascible  career 
and  perpetual  embroilment  of  the  author  of  "  The  Duneiad." 


3G4  SACRED  POETRY. 

Like  "  The  Dying  Christian,"  the  "Messiah"  was  written 
early  in  life,  and  first  saw  the  light  in  the  pages  of  "  The 
>Spectator." 

Pope  was  born  in  Lombard  Street,  London,  May  22,  1G88, 
and  on  the  30th  of  the  same  month  of  May  1744,  he  died  at 
Twickenham. 

Ye  nymphs  of  Solyma  !  begin  the  song  : 

To  heavenly  themes  subllmer  strains  belong. 

The  mossy  fountains  and  the  sylvan  shades, 

The  dreams  of  Piiidus  and  th'  Aonian  maids,  j 

Delight  no  more— 0  Thou  my  voice  inspire 

"Who  touchVi  Isaiah's  hallow'd  lips  "with  fire  I 

Rapt  into  future  times,  the  bard  begun  : 
A  virgin  shall  conceive,  a  virgin  bear  a  Son ! 
From  Jesse's  root  behold  a  Branch  arise, 
"Whose  sacred  flower  with  fragrance  fills  the  skies : 
Th'  ethereal  spirit  o'er  its  leaves  shall  move, 
And  on  its  top  descends  the  mystic  Dove. 
Ye  heavens  !  from  high  the  dewy  nectar  pour. 
And  in  soft  silence  shed  the  kindly  shower ! 
The  sick  and  weak  the  healing  plant  shall  aid. 
From  storm  a  shelter,  and  from  heat  a  shade. 
All  crimes  shall  cease,  and  ancient  frauds  shall  fail  ; 
Returning  Justice  lift  aloft  her  scale  ; 
Peace  o'er  the  world  her  olive  wand  extend. 
And  white-robed  Innocence  from  heaven  descend. 
Swift  fly  the  years,  and  rise  th'  expected  morn  ! 
Oh  spring  to  light,  auspicious  Babe,  be  born  ! 
See,  Nature  hastes  her  earliest  wreaths  to  bring, 
"With  all  the  incense  of  the  breathing  spring: 
See  lofty  Lebanon  his  head  advance. 
See  nodding  forests  on  the  mountains  dance  : 
See  spicy  clouds  from  lowly  Sharon  rise. 
And  Carmel's  flowery  top  perfume  the  skies  ! 
Hark !  a  glad  voice  the  lonely  desert  cheers ; 
Prepare  the  way  !  a  God,  a  God  appears ! 


POPE  S  "  MESSIAH. 

A  God,  a  God !  the  vocal  hills  reply  ; 
The  rocks  proclaim  th'  approaching  Deity. 
Lo  !  earth  receives  Him  from  the  bending  skies  ! 
Sink  down,  ye  mountains  !  and  ye  valleys  rise  ! 
With  heads  declined,  ye  cedars,  homage  pay  ! 
Be  smooth,  ye  rocks  !  ye  rapid  floods,  give  way  ! 
The  Saviour  comes  !  by  ancient  bards  foretold : 
Hear  Him,  ye  deaf!  and  all  ye  blind,  behold  ! 
Me  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual  ray, 
.And  on  the  sightless  eye-ball  pour  the  day : 
■'Tis  He  th'  obstructed  paths  of  sound  shall  clear, 
And  bid  new  music  charm  th'  unfolding  ear  : 
The  dumb  shall  sing,  the  lame  his  crutch  forego, 
And  leap  exulting,  like  the  bounding  roe. 
Ko  sigh,  no  murmur,  the  wide  world  shall  hear  ; 
From  every  face  He  wipes  off  every  tear, 
in  adamantine  chains  shall  death  be  bound. 
And  hell's  grim  tyrant  feel  th'  eternal  wound. 
As  the  good  shepherd  tends  his  fleecy  care. 
Seeks  freshest  pasture  and  the  purest  air ; 
Explores  the  lost,  the  wandering  sheep  directs, 
By  day  o'ersees  them,  and  by  night  protects  ; 
The  tender  lambs  he  raises  in  his  arms. 
Feeds  from  his  hand,  and  in  his  bosom  warms  : 
Thus  shall  mankind  his  guardian  care  engage. 
The  promised  father  of  the  future  age. 
No  more  shall  nation  against  nation  rise, 
Nor  ardent  warriors  meet  with  hateful  eyes, 
Nor  fields  Avith  gleaming  steel  be  covered  o'er, 
The  brazen  trumpets  kindle  rage  no  more ; 
But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend, 
And  the  broad  falchion  in  a  ploughshare  end. 
Then  palaces  shall  rise  ;  the  joyful  son 
Shall  finish  what  his  short-lived  sire  begun  ; 
Their  vines  a  shadow  to  their  race  shall  yield, 
And  the  same  hand  that  sow'd,  shall  reap  the  field. 
The  swain  in  barren  deserts  with  surprise 
Sees  lilies  spring,  and  sudden  verdure  rise  ; 
And  starts  amidst  the  thirsty  wilds  to  hear 
New  falls  of  water  murmuring  in  his  ear. 
2  r2 


366  SACRED  POETRY. 

On  rifted  rocks,  the  dragon's  late  abodes, 
The  green  reed  trembles,  and  tlie  bnlriish  nods. 
Waste  sand}'  valleys,  once  perplex'd  with  thorn. 
The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn  : 
To  leafless  shrnbs  the  flowery  palms  snccccd, 
And  odorous  myrtle  to  the  noisome  weed. 
The  lambs  with  wolves  shall  graze  the  verdant  mead, 
And  boys  in  flowery  bands  the  tiger  lead. 
The  steer  and  lion  at  one  crib  shall  meet, 
And  harmless  serpents  lick  the  pilgrim's  feet. 
The  smiling  infant  in  his  hand  shall  take 
The  crested  basilisk  and  speckled  snake. 
Pleased,  the  green  lustre  of  the  scales  survey, 
And  with  their  forky  tongue  shall  innocently  play. 
Rise,  cro\vn'd  with  light,  imperial  Salem,  rise!. 
Exalt  thy  towery  head,  and  lift  tliy  eyes  ! 
See  a  long  race  thy  spacious  courts  adorn  ; 
See  future  sons,  and  daughters  yet  unborn, 
In  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise. 
Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies  1' 
See  barbarous  nations  at  thy  gates  attend^ 
Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend ; 
See  thy  bright  altars  throng'd  with  prostrate  kings. 
And  heap'd  with  products  of  Sabean  springs  ! 
For  thee  Idume's  spicy  forests  blow, 
And  seeds  of  gold  in  Ophir's  mountains  glow. 
See  heaven  its  sparkling  portals  Avide  display, 
And  break  upon  them  in  a  flood  of  day  ! 
No  more  the  rising  sun  sliall  gild  the  morn. 
Nor  evening  Cynthia  fill  her  silver  horn  ; 
But  lost,  dissolved  in  thy  superior  rays, 
One  tide  of  glory,  one  unclouded  blaze 
O'erflow  thy  courts  :  the  Light  himself  shall  shine 
Reveal'd,  and  God's  eternal  day  be  thine  ! 
The  seas  shall  waste,  the  skies  in  smoke  decav. 
Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away  ! 
But  fix'd  His  Avord,  His  saving  power  remains ; 
Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts,  thy  own  Messiah  reigns ! 


YOUNG.  367 


SEJe  iSoi'ng  Cfjristian  to  f)is  ^otil 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame  ! 

Quit,  oh  !  quit  this  mortal  frame  : 
Trembling,  hoping,  ling-ering-,  flying — 
Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying  ! 

Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife^ 
And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

Hark  !  they  ■whisper  ;  angels  say, 
'■'■  Sister  spirit,  come  away." 
AVhat  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 
Steals  my  senses,  shnts  my  sight, 

Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 

Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death? 

The  world  recedes  ;  it  disappears  ; 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes  ;  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring  : 
Lend,  lend  3'our  wings  ;  I  momit,  I  fly 
0  grave !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

0  death  !  where  is  thy  sting? 


DR  ED  WARD  YOUNG. 

Edwaed  Young  was  bom  at  Upliam,  near  Winchester, 
June  ]  681.  In  liis  earlier  life  lie  was  known  as  the  author  of 
"  The  Revenge,"  and  other  tragedies.  At  the  age  of  fifty- 
seven  he  entered  into  orders;  and  in  July  1730,  lie  was  pre- 
sented to  the  rectory  of  Welwyn  in  Hertfordshire.  Here  he 
married  Lady  Elizabeth  Lee,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Lich- 
field. She  died  in  17-41,  and  the  disconsolate  survivor  sought 
to  soothe  his  sorrows  by  the  composition  of  "  The  Night 
Thoughts," — the  poem  with  which  his  name  is  now  identified. 
He  died  at  Welwyn,  April  1765. 

"  The  Night  Thoughts"  are  an  immense  repository  of  moral- 
isings  and  maxims,  too  frecpicntly  pinched  into  paradox  or 
balanced  in  antitheses,  and  strung  together  on  a  very  feeble 


368  SACRED  POETRY. 

thread.  As  a  biographer  has  remarked — "  There  is  a  want  of 
a  clear  connexion  in  the  subject ;  every  image  is  amplified  to 
the  utmost ;  every  argument  expanded  and  varied,  as  much  as 
the  greatest  fertility  of  the  fancy  could  effect.  .  .  .  There  is 
no  selection,  no  discreet  and  graceful  reservation ;  no  mark  of 
that  experienced  taste  that  knows  exactly  when  the  purpose 
has  been  effected,  and  which  leaves  the  rest  to  be  supphed  by 
the  imagination  of  the  reader.  Reflection  follows  on  reflection, 
and  thought  on  thought,  in  such  close  succession,  that,  as  in 
books  of  maxims,  one  truth  obstructs  and  obliterates  another  ; 
.  .  .  and  we  feel,  I  am  afraid,  in  reading  this  poem  of  Young, 
as  we  do  in  the  perusal  of  Seneca,  that  no  progress,  no 
advancement  is  made ;  we  seem  to  move  in  a  perpetually 
dazzling  circle  of  argument,  and  reflection,  and  analogy,  and 
metaphor,  and  illustration,  without  the  power  of  passing  be- 
yond it ;  and  it  is  on  this  account  that  the  perusal  of  both 
these  writers,  however  delightful  for  a  season,  soon  fiitigues 
and  dissatisfies  the  mind.  Any  one  who  will  compare  the 
moral  writings  of  Cicero  and  Seneca  in  this  respect,  will  soon 
mark  the  distinction  to  which  I  allude."'"' 

At  the  same  time,  such  are  the  aphoristic  force  and  the 
felicitous  wording  of  many  separate  sentences,  that  they  have 
almost  passed  into  proverbs,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  name 
any  author  whose  sayings  so  constantly  recur  to  the  preacher 
and  moralist.  As  he  turns  over  the  pages,  the  reader  will  ever 
and  anon  recognise  "  household  words"  like  the  followiu"- : — 

"  The  first  sure  symptom  of  a  mind  in  lieahli 
Is  rc6t  of  licart,  and  pleasure  felt  at  home." 

''  Like  our  shadows, 
Oui"  wishes  lengthen  as  our  sun  declines." 

"  Men  may  five  fools,  but  fools  they  cannot  die." 

"  The  world's  a  prophecy  of  worlds  to  come." 

*  Rev.  Juhu  ]\Iitford's  '*  Life  of  Young,"  Tiekering's  edition;  p.  38. 


YOUNG.  SGO- 

"  A  Christian  dwells,  like  Uriel,  in  the  sun." 

"  Eesembles  ocean  into  tempest  -wrought, 
To  waft  a  featlier,  or  to  drown  a  A}'.'" 

"  How  wretched  is  the  man  who  never  mouni'd!" 

^])t  Exm  ILantJ  of  i\)t  Hibmtj, 

Why  then  their  loss  deplore,  that  are  not  lost  ? 
Why  -wanders  M-retched  thought  their  tombs  around. 
In  infidel  distress  ? 

Tliey  live  I  they  greatly  live  a  life  on  earth 
Unkindled,  unconceived  ;  and  from  an  eye 
Of  tenderness,  let  heavenly  pity  fall 
On  me,  more  justly  number'd  with  the  dead. 
This  is  the  desert,  this  tlie  solitude : 
How  populous,  how  vital,  is  the  grave ! 
This  is  creation's  melancholy  vault. 
The  vale  funereal,  the  sad  cypress  gloom  ; 
The  land  of  apparitions,  empty  shades  ! 
All,  all  on  earth,  is  shadow,  all  beyond 
Is  substance  ;  the  reverse  is  folly's  creed  : 
How  solid  all,  Avhere  change  shall  be  no  more? 

This  is  the  bud  of  being,  the  dim  dawn, 
The  twilight  of  our  day,  the  vestibule  ; 
Life's  theatre  as  yet  is  shut,  and  death. 
Strong  death,  alone  can  heave  the  massy  bar. 
This  gross  impediment  of  clay  remove. 
And  make  us  embryos  of  existence  free. 

Embryos  -we  must  be,  till  we  burst  the  shell. 
Yon  ambient  azure  shell,  and  spring  to  life. 
The  life  of  gods,  .0  tran!=port !  and  of  man. 

m^z  ^iwful  Certamtg. 

Tell  me,  some  god  !  my  guardian  angel !  tell, 
Wiiat  thus  infatuates?  what  enchantment  plants 
The  phantom  of  an  age  'twixt  us,  and  death 
Already  at  the  door?    He  knocks,  Ave  hear  iiim. 


37Q  SACEED  P0ETE7. 

And  yet  we  will  not  hear.     "What  mail  defends 

Our  untouch'd  hearts  ?     What  miracle  turns  off  Nw 

The  pointed  thought,  which  from  a  thousand  quivers 

Is  daily  darted,  and  is  daily  shunn'd? 

We  stand  as  in  a  battle,  throngs  on  throngs 

Around  ns  falling ;  wounded  oft  ourselves  ; 

Though  bleeding  with  our  wounds,  immortal  still ! 

We  see  time's  furrows  on  another's  brow, 

And  death  entrench'd,  preparing  his  assault ; 

How  few  themselves,  in  that  just  mirror,  see ! 

Or,  seeing,  draw  their  inference  as  strong! 

There  death  is  certain  ;  doubtful  here :  He  must, 

And  soon ;  We  may,  within  an  age,  expire. 

Though  gray  our  heads,  our  thoughts  and  aims  are  green ; 

Like  damaged  clocks,  whose  hand  and  bell  dissent ; 

Folly  sings  Six,  while  Nature  points  at  TAvelve. 

Must  I  then  forward  only  look  for  death  V 
Backward  I  turn  mine  eye,  and  find  him  there. 
Man  is  a  self-survivor  every  year. 
Man,  like  a  stream,  is  in  perpetual  flow. 
Death 's  a  destroyer  of  quotidian  prey. 
My  youth,  my  noontide,  his  ;  my  yesterday  ; 
The  bold  invader  shares  the  present  hour. 
Each  moment  on  the  former  shuts  the  grave. 
While  man  is  growing,  life  is  in  decrease ; 
And  cradles  rock  ns  nearer  to  the  tomb. 
Our  birth  is  nothing  but  our  death  begun  ; 
As  tapers  waste,  that  instant  they  take  fire. 


Boi^U  iFricntis. 

Our  dying  friends  come  o'er  us  like  a  cloud, 
To  damp  our  brainless  ardours  ;  and  abate 
That  glare  of  life  which  often  blinds  the  wise  : 
Our  dying  friends  are  pioneers,  to  smooth 
Our  rugged  pass  to  death ;  to  break  those  bars 
Of  terror  and  abhorrence  Nature  throws 
'Cross  our  obstructed  Avay ;  and  thus  to  make 
Welcome,  as  safe,  our  port  from  every  storm. 
Each  friend  by  fate  snatch'd  from  us,  is  a  plume 


YOUNG.  371 

Pluck'd  from  the  wing  of  human  vanity, 
Which  makes  ns  stoop  from  om*  aerial  heights, 
And,  damp'd  with  omen  of  our  own  decease. 
On  drooping  pinions  of  ambition  lowered, 
Just  skim  earth's  surface,  ere  we  break  it  up. 
"O'er  putrid  earth  to  scratch  a  little  dust. 
And  save  the  world  a  nuisance.     Smitten  friends 
Are  angels  sent  on  errands  full  of  love  ; 
For  us  they  languish,  and  for  us  they  die : 
And  shall  they  languish,  shall  they  die,  in  vain? 
Ungrateful,  shall  we  grieve  their  hovering  shades, 
Which  wait  the  revolution  in  our  hearts  ? 
Shall  we  disdain  their  silent,  soft  address ; 
Their  posthumous  advice,  and  pious  prayer? 
Senseless,  as  herds  that  graze  their  hallow'd  graves, 
Tread  under  foot  their  agonies  and  groans  ; 
Frustrate  their  anguish,  and  destroy  their  deaths? 

Eivxe, 

The  bell  strikes  one.     We  take  no  note  of  time 

But  from  its  loss.     To  give  it  then  a  tongue 

Is  wise  in  man.     As  if  an  angel  spoke, 

I  feel  the  solemn  sound.     If  heard  aright. 

It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hours  : 

W^here  are  they  ?    With  the  years  beyond  the  flood. 

It  is  the  signal  that  demands  despatch  ; 

How  much  is  to  be  done !     My  hopes  and  fears 

Start  up  alarm'd,  and  o'er  life's  narrow  verge 

Look  down — On  what  ?  a  fiithomless  abyss  ! 

A  dread  eternity  !  how  surely  mine  ! 

And  can  eternity  belong  to  me. 

Poor  pensioner  on  the  bounties  of  an  hour  ? 

On  Piety  humanity  is  built ; 

And  on  humanity,  much  happiness  ; 

And  yet  still  more  on  piety  itself. 

A  soul  in  commerce  with  her  God,  is  heaven  ; 


372  SACRED  POETRY. 

Feels  not  the  tumults  and  the  shocks  of  life ; 

Tlie  whirls  of  passions,  and  the  strokes  of  heart. 

A  Deity  believed,  is  joy  begun  ; 

A  Deity  adored,  is  joy  advanced  ; 

A  Deity  beloved,  is  joy  matured. 

Each  branch  of  piety  delight  inspires  ; 

Faith  builds  a  bridge  from  this  world  to  the  next, 

O'er  death's  dark  o-nlf,  and  all  its  horror  hides  ; 

Praise,  the  sweet  exhalation  of  our  joy, 

That  joy  exalts,  and  makes  it  sweeter  still ; 

Prayer  ardent  opens  heaven,  lets  down  a  stream 

Of  glory  on  the  consecrated  hour 

Of  man,  in  audience  with  the  Deitj'. 

Who  worships  the  Great  God,  that  instant  joins 

The  first  in  heaven,  and  sets  his  foot  on  hell. 


Some  angel  guide  my  pencil,  while  I  draw, 
AVhat  nothing  less  than  angel  can  exceed ! 
A  man  on  earth  devoted  to  the  skies; 
Like  ships  on  seas,  while  in,  above  tiie  world. 

With  aspect  mild,  and  elevated  eye. 
Behold  him  seated  on  a  mount  serene. 
Above  the  fogs  of  sense,  and  passion's  storm ; 
All  the  black  cares  and  tumults  of  this  life. 
Like  harmless  thunders,  breaking  at  his  feet, 
Excite  his  pity,  not  impair  his  peace. 
Earth's  genuine  sons,  the  sceptred  and  the  slave, 
A  mingled  mob  I  a  wandering  herd!  he  sees, 
Bewilder'd  in  the  vale:  or  all  unlike! 
His  full  reverse  in  all!    AVhat  higher  praise? 
What  stronger  demonstration  of  tlie  right? 
The  present  all  their  care;  the  future  his. 
AVhen  public  welfare  calls,  or  private  want, 
Tiicy  give  to  fame;  his  bounty  he  conceals; 
Their  virtues  varnish  nature,  his  exalt ; 
Mankind's  esteem  they  court,  and  he  his  own; 
Theirs  the  wild  chase  of  false  felicities, 
llis  the  composed  possession  of  the  true. 


YOUNG.  373 

Alike  tlirougliout  Is  his  consistent  peace, 
All  of  one  colour,  and  an  even  thread; 
^Vhile  party-colour'd  shreds  of  happiness, 
"With  hideous  gaps  between,  patch  up  for  them 
A  madman's  robe;  each  puff  of  fortune  blows 
The  tatters  by,  and  shews  their  nakedness. 

He  sees  with  other  eyes  than  theirs  :  where  they 
Behold  a  sun,  he  spies  a  Deity; 
"What  makes  them  only  smile,  makes  him  adore ; 
Where  they  see  mountains,  he  but  atoms  sees; 
An  empire,  in  his  balance,  Aveighs  a  grain. 
They  things  terrestrial  worship,  as  divine; 
His  hopes  immortal  blow  them  by,  as  dust 
That  dims  his  sight,  and  shortens  his  survey, 
"Which  longs  in  infinite  to  lose  all  bound. 
Titles  and  honours  (if  tliey  prove  his  fate) 
He  lays  aside  to  find  his  dignity; 
No  dignity  they  find  in  aught  besides. 
They  triumph  in  externals  (which  conceal 
Man's  real  glory),  proud  of  an  eclipse. 
Himself  too  much  he  prizes  to  be  proud, 
And  nothing  thinks  so  great  in  man  as  man. 
Too  dear  he  holds  his  interest  to  neglect 
Another's  welfare,  or  his  right  invade; 
Their  interest,  like  a  lion,  lives  on  prey. 
They  kindle  at  the  shadow  of  a  wrong : 
"W^'rong  he  sustains  with  temper,  looks  on  heaven, 
Nor  stoops  to  think  his  injurer  his  foe; 
Nought  but  what  Avounds  his  virtue  wounds  his  peace. 
A  covcr'd  heart  their  character  defends ; 
A  cover'd  heart  denies  him  half  his  praise. 
"With  nakedness  his  innocence  agrees  ; 
"While  their  broad  foliage  testifies  their  fall. 
Their  no-joys  end,  Avhere  his  full  feast  begins: 
His  joys  create,  theirs  murder,  future  bliss. 
To  triumph  in  existence,  his  alone; 
And  his  alone  triumphantly  to  think 
His  true  existence  is  not  yet  begun. 
His  glorious  course  was,  yesterday,  complete; 
Death,  then,  was  welcome;  yet  life  still  is  sweet. 
VOL.  IV.  2  I 


374  SACRED  POETRY. 

JOHN  GAMEOLD. 

Born  near  Haverfordwest  in  South  Wales,  April  10,  1711, 
after  passing  through  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  John  Gambold 
became  \dcar  of  Stanton  Harcourt,  Oxfordshire,  where  he 
remained  till  1748,  when  he  joined  the  United  Brethren. 
Thereafter  he  officiated  as  minister  of  the  Moravian  Chapel, 
Fetter  Lane,  London,  and  eventually  as  a  bishop  of  the  United 
Brethren,  until  the  close  of  his  pious  and  useful  life,  which 
ended  w^here  it  began,  at  Haverfordwest,  September  13,  177L 

^\)t  iilgsterg  of  Eife. 

So  many  years  I've  seen  the  sun, 

And  call'd  tliese  eyes  and  hands  my  own, 

A  thousand  little  acts  I  've  done, 

And  childhood  have,  and  manhood  known : 

0  what  is  life !  and  this  dull  round 

To  tread,  why  was  a  spirit  bound? 

So  many  airy  draughts  and  lines, 

And  warm  excursions  of  the  mind, 
Have  fill'd  my  soul  with  great  designs, 

While  i)ractice  grovell'd  far  behind  : 
0  what  is  thought !  and  where  Avithdraw 
The  glories  which  my  ftmcy  saw  ? 

So  many  tender  joys  and  woes 

Have  on  my  quivering  soul  had  poAver ; 

Plain  life  with  heightening  passions  rose, 
The  boast  or  burden  of  their  hour : 

0  what  is  all  we  feel !  why  tied 

Those  pains  and  pleasures  o'er  my  heat!  ? 

So  many  human  souls  divine, 

So  at  one  interview  display'd, 
Some  oft  and  freely  mix'd  with  mine, 

In  lasting  bonds  my  heart  have  laid  : 
0  Avhat  is  friendship  !  Avhy  impress'd 
On  my  weak,  wretched,  dying  breast? 


GAMBOLD.  375 

So  many  wondrous  gleams  of  light, 

And  gentle  ardours  from  above, 
Have  made  me  sit,  like  seraph  bright. 

Some  moments  on  a  throne  of  love : 
O  what  is  virtue !  Avhy  had  F, 
"Who  am  so  low,  a  taste  so  high? 

Ere  long,  when  Sovereign  Wisdom  wills, 

My  soul  an  unknown  path  shall  tread, 
Aud  strangely  leave,  who  strangely  fills 

This  frame,  and  waft  me  to  the  dead : 
O  what  is  death !  'tis  life's  last  shore. 
Where  vanities  are  vain  no  more ; 
Where  all  pursuits  their  goal  obtaiu, 
And  life  is  all  retouch'd  again  ; 
Where  in  their  bright  results  shall  rise 
Thoughts,  virtues,  friendships,  griefs,  and  joys. 


WILLIAM  COWPER. 

Of  this  most  Christian  of  our  poets — in  his  theology  the 
most  evangelical,  in  his  standard  of  right  and  wrong  the  most 
scriptural,  and  in  his  tone  and  spirit,  constitutional  melan- 
choly notwithstanding,  the  most  benevolent  and  cheerful — 
there  is  no  need  that  we  should  say  anything.  No  literary 
career  has  so  often  tempted  the  biographical  pen,  and,  self- 
portrayed  in  his  charming  lays  and  no  less  charming  letters, 
no  figure  is  more  familiar  to  the  English  mind  than  the  bard 
of  Olney.  Evenings  too  dull  for  a  severer  task,  or  too  ex- 
hausted for  a  brisker  excitement,  have  often  been  beguiled 
by  his  inimitable  epistles.  Our  classical  exercitations  are 
dissociated  with  his  effort,  so  hard  but  so  hearty,  to  transfer 
into  curt  but  sturdy  English  the  thoughts  which  wander  at 
their  will  along  the  sunny  tide  of  Homer's  song  ;  and  our 
knowledge  of  human  nature  has  been  enlarged  by  his  clear 
intuitions,  and  his  clever  but  not  ill-natured  descriptions. 
jMany  a  merry  schoolboy  has  been  made  still  merrier  by  "  The 


376  SACRED  POETRY. 

Diverting  History  of  Jolm  Clili^iii,"  and  many  a  mourner  in 
Zion  has  been  consoled  whilst  seeking  with  him  "the  calm 
retreat,  the  silent  shade/'  and  praying  for  "  a  closer  Avalk  with 
C4od."  And  if  art  can  desire  no  better  picture  of  a  homely 
modern  Eden,  than  the  Alcove  at  Olney,  and  its  gentle  occu- 
pant feeding  his  hares,  the  calamities  of  genius  record  few 
sadder  tales  than  the  dark  eclipse  of  that  fine  mind,  and  its 
long  and  dreary  setting. 

CowRER  was  born  at  Bcrkhampstead,  November  2G,  1731, 
and  died  at  East  Dereham,  April  25,  1800. 

It  was  about  1772  that  Cowper  wrote  most  of  the  hymns 
which,  to  the  number  of  sixty-eight,  afterwards  appeared  in  the 
Olney  Collection.  The  first  volume  of  his  jDoems  was  pub- 
lished in  1782,  and  its  much  more  successful  companion  fol- 
lowed in  178-5,  silencing  at  once  the  captiousness  of  criticism, 
and  securing  for  ever  the  fame  of  the  author  of  "  The  Task." 

Southey  has  well  described  the  period  at  which  Cowper's- 
star  surmounted  the  horizon  : — "  '  The  Task '  appeared  in  the 
interval  when  young  minds  were  prepared  to  receive  it,  and 
at  a  juncture  when  there  was  no  poet  of  any  great  ability 
or  distinguished  name  in  the  field.  Gray  and  Akenside 
were  dead.  Mason  was  silent.  Glover,  brooding  over  his. 
'  Atheniad,'  was  regarded  as  belonging  to  an  age  that  was 
past.  Churchill  was  forgotten.  Emily  and  Bampfylde  had 
been  cut  off  in  the  blossom  of  their  youth.  Crabbe  having, 
by  the  publication  of  his  '  Library,'  his  '  Village,'  and  his 
'  Newspaper,'  accomplished  his  heart's  immediate  desire, 
sought  at  that  time  for  no  further  publicity  ;  and  Hajlcy 
ambled  over  the  course  without  a  competitor.  .  .  .  '  The  Task '" 
was  at  once  descriptive,  moral,  and  satirical.  The  descriptive 
parts  everywhere  bore  evidence  of  a  thoughtful  mind  and  a. 
gentle  spirit,  as  well  as  of  an  observant  eye  ;  and  the  moral 
sentiment  which  pervaded  them  gave  a  charm  in  which  de- 
scriptive poetry  is  often  found  wanting.  The  best  didactic  poems. 


cowPEPw  077 

wlien  compared  with  '  The  Task/  are  like  formal  gardens 
ill  comparison  with  woodland  scenery Its  satire  is  alto- 
gether free  from  personality ;  it  is  the  satire,  not  of  a  sour  and  dis- 
contented spirit,  but  of  a  benevolent  though  melancholy  mind  ; 
and  the  melancholy  was  not  of  a  kind  to  affect  artificial  gloom 
and  midnight  musings,  but  rather  to  seek  and  find  relief  in 
sunshine,  in  the  beauties  of  nature,  in  books  and  leisure,  in  soli- 
tary or  social  walks,  and  in  the  comforts  of  a  cjuiet  fireside." '" 

2rf)c  ^utljor  l^imsclf. 

I  was  a  stricl?^!!  deer,  that  left  the  herd 
Long-  since;  ^vith  many  an  arrow  deep  inSx'd 
My  panting  side  was  charged,  when  I  withdrew 
To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades. 
There  was  I  found  by  One  who  had  Himself 
Been  hurt  by  th'  archers.     In  His  side  He  bore, 
And  in  His  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts, 
He  drew  them  forth,  and  heal'd,  and  bade  me  live. 
Since  tlien,  with  few  associates,  in  remote 
And  silent  woods  I  wander,  far  from  those 
My  former  partners  of  the  peopled  scene ; 
With  few  associates,  and  not  wishing  more. 
Here  much  1  ruminate,  as  much  I  may, 
With  other  views  of  men  and  manners  now 
Than  once,  and  others  of  a  life  to  come. 
I  see  that  all  are  wanderers,  gone  astray 
Each  in  his  own  delusions;  they  are  lost 
In  chase  of  fancied  happiness,  still  woo'd 
And  never  won.     Dream  after  dream  ensues; 
And  still  they  dream  that  they  shall  still  succeed. 
And  still  are  disappointed. 

Ef)e  ^artioneb  dinner. 

As  when  a  felon,  whom  his  country's  laws 
Have  justly  doom'd  for  some  atrocious  cause, 

*  Soutliey's  "  Life  of  Cowper,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  1S1-1S4. 
2  I  2 


378  SACRED  POETRY. 

Expects,  in  darkness  and  heart-cliilling  fears, 

The  shameful  dose  of  all  his  misspent  years; 

If  chance,  on  heavy  pinions  slowly  borne, 

A  tempest  usher  in  the  dreaded  morn, 

Upon  liis  dung-eon  walls  the  lightning  play, 

The  thunder  seems  to  summon  him  away, 

The  "warder  at  the  door  his  key  applies, 

Shoots  back  the  bolt,  and  all  his  courage  dies: 

If  then,  just  then,  all  thoughts  of  mercy  lost, 

When  Hope,  long  lingering,  at  last  yields  the  ghost. 

The  sound  of  pardon  pierce  his  startled  car, 

He  drops  at  once  his  fetters  and  his  fear; 

A  transport  glows  in  all  he  looks  and  speaks, 

And  the  first  thankful  tears  bedew  his  cheeks. 

Joy,  far  superior  joy,  that  much  outweighs 

The  comfort  of  a  few  poor  added  days. 

Invades,  possesses,  and  overwhelms  the  soul 

Of  him  whom  Hope  has  with  a  touch  made  whole, 

'Tis  heaven,  all  heaven,  descending  on  the  wings 

Of  the  glad  legions  of  the  King  of  kings; 

'Tis  more — 'tis  God  diffused  through  every  part, 

'Tis  God  himself  triumphant  in  his  heart ! 

Oh,  welcome  noAv  the  sun's  once  hated  light, 

His  noon-day  beams  were  never  half  so  bright. 

Not  kindred  minds  alone  are  call'd  t'  employ 

Their  hours,  their  days,  in  listening  to  his  joy; 

Unconscious  nature,  all  that  he  surveys, 

Rocks,  groves,  and  streams  must  join  him  in  his  praise. 


mjz  Patriot  anti  tlje  fHartgr. 

Patriots  have  toil'd,  and  in  their  country's  cause 
Bled  nobly ;  and  their  deeds,  as  they  deserve, 
Receive  proud  recompence.     We  give  in  charge 
Their  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.     Th'  historic  muse. 
Proud  of  the  treasure,  marclies  with  it  down 
To  latest  times  ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  turn, 
Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever-during  brass 
To  guard  them,  and  t'  immortalise  her  trust : 
But  fairer  wreaths  are  due,  though  never  paid^ 


COWPER. 

To  tliosG  who,  posted  at  the  shiine  of  Truth, 

Have  fallen  in  her  defence.     A  patriot's  blood, 

Well  spent  in  such  a  strife,  may  earn  indeed, 

And  for  a  time  insure  to  his  loved  land 

The  sweets  of  liberty  and  equal  laws  ; 

But  martyrs  struggle  for  a  brighter  prize. 

And  win  it  with  more  pain.     Their  blood  is  shed 

In  confirmation  of  the  noblest  claim — 

Our  claim  to  feed  upon  immortal  truth, 

To  walk  with  God,  to  be  divinely  free, 

To  soar,  and  to  anticipate  the  skies ! 

Yet  few  remember  them.     They  lived  unknown 

Till  persecution  dragg'd  them  into  fame, 

And  chased  them  up  to  heaven.     Their  ashes  flew — 

No  marble  tells  us  whither.     With  their  names 

No  bard  embalms  and  sanctifies  his  song : 

And  history,  so  warm  on  meaner  themes, 

Is  cold  on  this.     She  execrates  indeed 

The  tyranny  that  doom'd  them  to  the  fire, 

But  gives  the  glorious  sufferers  little  praise. 

He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free, 
And  all  are  slaves  beside.     There 's  not  a  chain 
That  hellish  foes,  confederate  for  his  harm, 
Can  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  off 
With  as  much  ease  as  Samson  his  green  withes. 
He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  nature,  and,  though  poor  perhaps,  compared 
With  those  AvhOoC  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 
Calls  the  delightful  scenery  all  his  own. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers.     His  t'  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel, 
But  who,  with  filial  confidence  inspired. 
Can  lift  to  heaven  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 
And  smiling  say — "  My  Father  made  them  all !  " 
Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculiar  right, 
And  by  an  emphasis  of  interest  his. 
Whose  eye  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  joy, 
Whose  heart  with  praise,  and  whose  exalted  mind 
With  worthy  thoughts  of  that  unwearied  love 


37a 


380  SACRED  POETRY. 

That  planivd,  and  built,  and  slill  upliolds  a  world 
So  clothed  witli  beauty  for  rebellious  man  ? 
Yes — ye  may  fill  your  g-arners,  ye  that  reap 
The  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good 
In  senseless  riot ;  but  ye  will  not  find, 
In  feast  or  in  the  chase,  in  song  or  dance, 
A  liberty  like  his,  who,  unimpeach'd 
Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  wrong. 
Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father's  work, 
And  has  a  richer  use  of  yours  than  you. 
He  is  indeed  a  freeman.     Free  by  birth 
Of  no  mean  city  ;  plaun'd  or  e'er  the  hills 
Were  built,  the  fountains  open'd,  or  the  sea 
With  all  his  rolling  multitude  of  waves. 
His  freedom  is  the  same  in  every  state  ; 
And  no  condition  of  this  changeful  life, 
So  manifold  in  cares,  whose  every  day 
Brings  its  own  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less : 
For  he  has  wings  that  neither  sickness,  pain, 
Kor  penury,  can  cripple  or  confine. 
No  nook  so  narrow  but  he  spreads  them  there 
With  ease,  and  is  at  laige.     Th'  oppressor  holds 
His  body  bound  ;  but  knows  not  what  a  range 
His  spirit  takes,  imconscious  of  a  chain  ; 
And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt. 
Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  he  dwells. 

€nrjlant(. 

England,  with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still — 
My  coimtry  !  and,  while  yet  a  nook  is  left 
Where  English  minds  and  manners  may  be  found, 
Shall  be  constrain'd  to  love  thee.     Thougli  thy  clime 
Be  fickle,  and  thy  year  most  part  deform'd 
With  dripping  rains,  or  wither'd  by  a  frost, 
I  would  not  yet  exchange  thy  sullen  skies. 
And  fields  without  a  fiower,  for  wanner  France 
With  all  her  vines  ;  nor  for  Ausonia's  groves 
Of  golden  fruitage,  and  her  myrtle  bowers. 
To  shake  tl)y  senate,  and  from  heights  sublime 
Of  patriot  eloquence  to  fla.<h  doAvn  fire 


COWPER.  381 

Upon  tliy  foes,  was  never  meant  niv  task : 

But  I  can  feel  thy  fortunes,  and  partake 

Thy  joys  and  sorrows,  with  as  true  a  heart 

As  any  thunderer  there.     And  I  can  feel 

Thy  follies  too  ;  and  with  a  just  disdain 

Frown  at  effeminates,  whose  very  looks 

Reflect  dishonour  on  the  land  I  love. 

How,  in  tiie  name  of  soldiership  and  sense. 

Should  England  prosper,  when  such  things,  as  smooth 

And  tender  as  a  girl,  all  essenced  o'er 

"\A' ith  odours,  and  as  profligate  as  sweet ; 

Who  sell  their  laurel  for  a  myrtle  wreath, 

And  love  when  they  should  fight ;  when  such  as  these 

Presume  to  lay  their  hand  upon  the  ark 

Of  her  magnificent  and  awful  cause? 

Time  was  when  it  was  praise  and  boast  enough 

In  every  clime,  and  travel  where  we  miglit, 

That  we  were  born  her  children.     Praise  enough 

To  fill  the  ambition  of  a  private  man. 

That  Chatham's  language  was  his  mother  tongue, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

Farewell  those  honours,  and  ferewell  with  them 

The  hope  of  sitch  hereafter !     They  have  fallen 

Each  in  his  field  of  glory  ;  one  in  arms, 

And  one  in  council — Wolfe  upon  the  lap 

Of  smiling  Victory  that  moment  won. 

And  Chatham  heart-sick  of  his  country's  shame  ! 

They  made  us  many  soldiers.     Chatham,  still 

Consulting  England's  happiness  at  home, 

Secured  it  by  an  unforgiving  frown. 

If  any  wrong'd  her.     Wolfe,  where'er  he  fought, 

Put  so  much  of  his  heart  into  his  act. 

That  his  example  had  a  magnet's  force. 

And  all  were  swift  to  follow  whom  all  loved. 

Those  suns  are  set.     Oh,  rise  some  other  such  ! 

Or  all  that  we  have  left  is  empty  talk 

Of  old  achievements,  and  despair  of  new. 


S82  SACRED  POETRY. 


Ambition,  avarice,  pemuy  dcsj)atch 
The  world  of  waiiclering  knights  and  squires  to  town  : 
London  eno-ulfs  them  all !     The  shark  is  there. 
And  the  shark's  prey  ;  the  spendthrift,  and  the  leech 
That  sucks  i)im.     There  tiie  sycophant,  and  he 
Who,  with  bare-headed  and  obsequious  bows, 
Begs  a  warm  office,  dooni'd  to  a  cold  jail 
And  groat  per  diem,  if  his  patron  frown. 
The  levee  swarms,  as  if,  in  goklen  pomp, 
Were  character'd  on  every  statesman's  door, 
''Batter'd  and  bankrupt  fortunes  mended  here." 
These  are  the  charms  that  sully  and  eclipse 
The  charms  of  nature.     'Tis  the  cruel  gripe 
That  lean,  hard-handed  Poverty  inflicts. 
The  hope  of  better  things,  the  chance  to  win. 
The  wish  to  shine,  the  thirst  to  be  amused. 
That  at  the  sound  of  Winter's  hoary  wing- 
Unpeople  all  our  counties  of  such  herds 
Of  fluttering,  loitering,  cringing,  begging,  loose 
And  wanton  vagrants,  as  make  London,  vast 
And  boundless  as  it  is,  a  crowded  coop. 

0  thou,  resort  and  mart  of  all  the  earth, 
Chequer'd  with  all  complexions  of  mankind, 
And  spotted  with  all  crimes ;  in  whom  I  see 
Much  that  I  love,  and  more  that  I  admire, 
And  all  that  I  abhor ;  thou  freckled  fair, 
That  pleasest  aiid  yet  shock'st  me,  I  can  laugh, 
And  I  can  weep,  can  hope,  and  can  despond, 
Feel  wrath  and  pity,  when  I  think  on  thee  ! 
Ten  righteous  would  have  saved  a  city  once, 
And  thou  hast  m.any  righteous. — Well  for  thee — 
That  salt  preserves  thee ;  more  corrupted  else, 
And  therefore  more  obnoxious,  at  this  hour 
Than  Sodom  in  her  day  had  power  to  be, 
For  whom  God  heard  His  Abr'am  plead  in  vain. 


cowpER.  383 


JPatrfotism  anti  ProijftJence. 

A.  Patriots,  alas  !  the  few  that  have  been  found, 
Where  most  they  flourish,  upon  English  ground, 
Tlie  countr3''s  need  have  scantily  supplied, 

And  the  last  left  the  scene  when  Chatham  died. 

B.  Not  so — the  virtue  still  adorns  our  age, 
Though  the  chief  actor  died  upon  the  stage. 
In  him  Demosthenes  was  heard  again  ; 
Liberty  taught  him  her  Athenian  strain  ; 
She  clothed  him  with  autiiority  and  awe. 
Spoke  from  his  lips,  and  in  his  looks  gave  law. 
His  speech,  his  form,  his  action,  full  of  grace, 
And  all  his  country  beaming  in  his  face. 

He  stood,  as  some  inimitable  hand 

"Would  strive  to  make  a  Paul  or  Tully  stand. 

No  sycophant  or  slave,  that  dared  oppose 

Her  sacred  cause,  but  trembled  when  he  rose ; 

And  every  venal  stickler  for  the  yoke 

Felt  himself  crush'd  at  the  first  word  he  spoke. 

Such  men  are  raised  to  station  and  command, 
When  Providence  means  mercy  to  a  land. 
He  speaks,  and  they  appear ;  to  Him  they  owe 
Skill  to  direct,  and  strength  to  strike  the  blow  ; 
To  manage  with  address,  to  seize  with  power. 
The  crisis  of  a  dark  decisive  hour. 
So  Gideon  earn'd  a  victory  not  his  own; 
Subserviency  his  praise,  and  that  alone. 

Poor  England  !  thou  art  a  devoted  deer. 
Beset  with  every  ill  but  that  of  fear. 
The  nations  hunt ;  all  mark  thee  for  a  prey  ; 
They  swarm  around  thee,  and  thou  stand'st  at  bay. 
Undaunted  still,  though  wearied  and  perplex'd. 
Once  Chatham  saved  thee;  but  who  saves  thee  next? 
Alas!  the  tide  of  pleasure  sweeps  along 
All  that  should  be  the  boast  of  British  song. 
'Tis  not  the  wreath  that  once  adorn'd  thy  brow. 
The  prize  of  happier  times,  Avill  serve  thee  now. 
Our  ancestry,  a  gallant  Christian  race, 
Patterns  of  every  virtue,  every  grace, 


3S4  SACRED  POETRY. 

Coiifess'd  a  God ;  they  kneerd  before  they  fought, 
And  praised  Ilim  in  the  victories  lie  wrought. 
Now  from  the  dust  of  ancient  days  bring-  forth 
Their  sober  zeal,  integrity,  and  ^Yorth ; 
Courage,  ungraced  by  these,  affronts  the  skies. 
Is  but  the  fire  without  the  sacrifice. 
The  stream  that  feeds  the  wellspring  of  the  hcait 
No  more  invigorates  life's  noblest  part, 
Than  virtue  quickens,  with  a  warmth  divine, 
The  powers  that  sin  has  brought  to  a  decline. 


E])t  ^Xllpit 

The  pulpit 
Must  stand  acknowledged,  while  the  world  shall  stand, 
The  most  important  and  efiectual  guard, 
Support,  and  ornament,  of  A^irtue's  cause. 
There  stands  the  messenger  of  truth  :  there  stands 
The  legate  of  the  skies!— llis  theme  divine, 
His  office  sacred,  his  credentials  clear. 
By  him  the  violated  law  speaks  out 
Its  thunders ;  and  by  him,  in  strains  as  sweet 
As  angels  use,  the  gospel  whispers  peace. 
He  'stablishes  the  strong,  restores  the  weak, 
Keclaims  the  wanderer,  binds  the  broken  heart, 
And,  arni'd  himself  in  panoply  complete 
Of  heavenly  temper,  furnishes  with  arms 
Bright  as  his  own,  and  trains,  by  every  rule 
Of  holy  discipline,  to  glorious  war. 
The  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect! 

I  venerate  the  man  whose  heart  is  warm, 
"Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life, 
Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause : 
To  such  I  render  more  than  mere  respect, 
AVhose  actions  say  that  they  respect  themselves. 
But  loose  in  morals,  and  in  manners  vain, 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 
Extreme,  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse ; 
Frequent  in  park  with  lady  at  his  side, 


cowpER,  385 

Ambling  and  prattling-  scandal  as  he  goes; 

But  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books, 

Or  with  his  pen,  save  when  lie  scrawls  a  card  ; 

Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round 

Oriadyships — a  stranger  to  the  poor  ; 

Ambitious  of  preferment  for  its  gold. 

And  well  prepared,  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 

By  infidelity  and  love  of  world. 

To  make  God's  work  a  sinecure  ;  a  slave 

To  his  own  pleasure  and  his  patron's  pride  : 

From  such  apostles,  oh,  ye  mitred  heads. 

Preserve  the  church  !  and  lay  not  careless  harids 

On  skulls  that  cannot  teach,  and  will  not  learn. 

Would  I  describe  a  preacher,  such  as  Paul, 
Were  he  on  earth,  would  hear,  approve,  and  own- 
Paul  should  himself  direct  me.     I  would  trace 
His  master-strokes,  and  draw  from  his  design. 
I  would  express  him  simple,  grave,  sincere ; 

In  doctrine  uncorrupt ;  in  language  plain, 

And  plain  in  manner  ;  decent,  solemn,  chaste, 

And  natural  in  gesture  ;  much  impress'd 

Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge, 

And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 

]May  feel  it  too ;  affectionate  in  look. 

And  tender  in  address,  as  well  becomes 

A  messenger  of  grace  to  guilty  men. 

Behold  the  picture!— Is  it  like?— Like  whom? 

The  things  that  mount  the  rostrum  with  a  skip, 

And  then  skip  down  again;  pronounce  a  text ; 

Cry— hem  ;  and  reading  what  they  never  wrote. 

Just  fifteen  minutes,  huddle  up  their  work, 

And  with  a  well-bred  whisper  close  the  scene  ! 


Ci^mmaus. 

It  happen'd,  on  a  solemn  even-tide. 
Soon  after  He  that  was  our  surety  died, 
Two  bosom  friends,  each  p-usively  incline  1, 
The  scene  of  ail  those  sorrows  left  behind, 
Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went, 
In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event : 

VOL.  IV.  2  K 


386  SACRED   POETRY. 

Tliey  spake  of  him  they  loved,  of  him  whose  life, 
Though  blameless,  had  incurrd  perpetual  strife, 
Whose  deeds  had  left,  in  spite  of  hostile  arts, 
A  deep  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 
The  recollection,  like  a  vein  of  ore, 
The  fm-ther  traced,  enrich'd  them  still  the  more 
They  thouglit  him,  and  they  justly  thought  him,  one 
Sent  to  do  more  than  he  appeared  t'  have  done  ; 
T'  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  them  high 
Above  all  else,  and  wonder'd  he  should  die. 
Ere  yet  they  brought  their  journey  to  an  end, 
A  stranger  join'd  them,  courteous  as  a  friend, 
And  ask'd  them,  Avith  a  kind  engaging  air, 
What  their  affliction  was,  and  begg'd  a  share. 
Inform'd,  he  gather'd  up  the  broken  thread. 
And,  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  he  said. 
Explained,  illustrated,  and  search'd  so  well 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell, 
That  reaching  home.  The  night,  they  said,  is  near, 
We  must  not  now  be  parted,  sojourn  here — 
The  new  acquaintance  soon  became  a  guest, 
And,  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast, 
He  bless'd  the  bread,  but  vanisird  at  the  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming,  'Tv»^is  the  Lord  ! 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  lie  deign'd  to  say. 
Did  they  not  burn  within  us  by  the  way  ? 


Crueltg  t0  Animals. 

I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 

(Though  graced  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine  sense. 

Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail 

That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path; 

But  he  that  has  humanity,  forcAvarn'd, 

Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 

The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight. 

And  charged  perhaps  with  venom,  that  intrudes, 

A  visitor  unwelcome,  into  scenes 


COWPER. 

Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose— th'  alcove, 

The  chamber,  or  refectory— may  die: 

A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 

Not  so  when,  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 

And  o-uiltless  of  offence,  they  range  the  air, 

Or  take  their  pastime  in  tlie  spacious  field  : 

There  they  are  privileged  ;  and  he  tliat  hunts 

Or  harms  them  there  is  guilty  of  a  wrong, 

Disturbs  th'  economy  of  Nature's  realm, 

Who,  when  she  form'd,  design'd  them  an  abode. 

The  sum  is  this  : — If  man's  convenience,  health, 

Or  safety  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims 

Are  paramount,  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 

Else  they  are  all — the  meanest  thiuo-s  that  are— 

As  free  to  live,  and  to  enjoy  that  life, 

As  God  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first, 

AVho  in  His  sovereign  wisdom  made  them  all. 

Ye,  therefore,  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 

To  love  it  too.     The  spring-time  of  our  years 

Is  soon  dishonour'd  and  defiled  in  most 

By  budding  ills,  that  ask.  a  prudent  hand 

To  check  them.     But,  alas  !  none  sooner  shoots, 

If  unrestrain'd,  into  luxuriant  growth, 

Than  cruelty,  most  devilish  of  them  all. 

Mercy  to  him  that  shews  it  is  the  rule 

And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act. 

By  which  Heaven  moves  in  pardoning  guilty  man 

And  he  that  shews  none,  being  ripe  in  years, 

And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits. 

Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it,  in  his  tm-u. 

Cte  IBlcstoration  of  all  Ef)incjs. 

The  groans  of  Nature  in  this  nether  world. 
Which  Heaven  has  heard  for  ages,  have  an  end. 
Foretold  by  prophets,  and  by  poets  sung. 
Whose  fire  waa  kindled  at  the  prophets'  lamp, 
The  time  of  rest,  the  promised  sabbath,  comes. 
Six  thousand  years  of  sorrow  have  well-nigh 
Fulfill'd  their  tardy  and  disastrous  coiu-se 
Over  a  sinful  world  ;  and  what  remains 


387 


388  SACRED  POETRY. 

Of  tliis  tempestuous  state  of  human  things 
Is  merely  as  the  working  of  a  sea 
Before  a  cahri,  that  rocks  itself  to  rest : 
For  He,  whose  car  the  winds  are,  and  the  clouds 
The  dust  that  waits  upon  His  sultry  march, 
When  sin  hath  moved  Him,  and  His  wrath  is  hot. 
Shall  visit  earth  in  mercy;  shall  descend, 
Propitious,  in  His  chariot  paved  with  love  ; 
And  w'hat  His  storms  have  blasted  and  defoced 
For  man's  revolt,  shall  with  a  smile  repaii-. 

0  scenes  surpassing  fable,  and  yet  true, 
Scenes  of  accomplish'd  bliss!  which  Avho  can  see, 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refresh'd  with  foretaste  of  the  joy? 
Rivers  of  gladness  water  all  the  earth. 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty  ;  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.     The  fruitful  field 
Laughs  with  abundance  ;  and  the  land,  once  lean. 
Or  fertile  only  in  its  own  disgrace. 
Exults  to  see  its  thistly  curse  repeal'd. 
The  various  seasons  woven  into  one. 
And  that  one  season  an  eternal  spring, 
The  garden  fears  no  blight,  and  needs  no  fence, 
For  there  is  none  to  covet,  all  are  full. 
The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear 
Graze  with  the  fearless  flocks ;  all  bask  at  noon 
Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shade 
Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  common  stream. 
Antipathies  are  none.    No  foe  to  man 
Lurks  in  the  serpent  now  :  the  mother  sees. 
And  smiles  to  sec,  her  infant's  playful  hand 
Stretch'd  forth  to  dally  with  the  crested  Avorm, 
To  stroke  his  azure  neck,  or  to  receive 
The  lambent  homage  of  his  arrowy  tongue. 
All  creatures  worsliip  man,  and  all  mankind 
One  Lord,  one  Father.     Error  has  no  place : 
That  creeping  pestilence  is  driven  away  ; 
The  breath  of  heaven  has  chased  it.     In  the  heart 
No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string. 


cowPER.  339 

But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 
Is  not :  the  pure  and  uucontauiiiiate  blood 
Holds  its  due  course,  nor  fears  the  fiost  of  age. 
One  song-  employs  all  nations ;  and  all  cry, 
''  Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  He  was  slain  for  us !  " 
The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 
Shout  to  each  other,  and  the  mountain  tops 
From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy  ; 
Till,  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 
Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  hosauna  round. 
Behold  the  measure  of  the  promise  fiU'd  ; 
See  Salem  built,  the  labour  of  a  God! 
Bright  as  a  sun  the  sacred  city  shines ; 
All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  earth 
Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory  of  all  lands 
Flows  into  her  ;  unbounded  is  her  joy, 
And  endless  her  increase.     Thy  rams  are  there, 
Nebaioth,  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar  there  ; 
The  looms  of  Ormus,  and  the  mines  of  Ind, 
And  Saba's  spicy  groves,  pay  tribute  there  ; 
Praise  is  in  all  her  gates :  upon  her  walls. 
And  in  her  streets,  and  in  her  spacious  courts, 
Is  heard  salvation.     Eastern  Java  there 
Kneels  with  the  native  of  the  furthest  west ; 
And  .Ethiopia  spreads  abroad  the  hand, 
And  worships.     Her  report  has  travell'd  forth 
Into  all  lands.     From  every  clime  they  come 
To  see  thy  beauty  and  to  share  thy  joy, 
0  Siou !  an  assembly  such  as  earth 
Saw  never,  such  as  Heaven  stoops  down  to  see. 


Come  then,  and,  added  to  Thy  many  crowns, 
Receive  yet  one,  the  crown  of  all  the  earth. 
Thou  who  alone  art  worthy  !    It  av;is  Thine 
By  ancient  covenant,  ere  Nature's  birth  ; 
And  Thou  hast  made  it  Thine  by  purchase  silice, 
And  overpaid  its  value  with  Thy  blood. 
Thy  saints  proclaim  Thee  king ;  and  in  their  hearts 
Thy  title  is  engraven  with  a  pen 
Dipp'd  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  love. 
2  K  2 


HYMNS. 

The  eigliteeiith  century  gave  England  nearly  all  its  hymns. 
If  any  popular  collection  were  analysed,  it  would  be  found 
that  the  chronology  of  its  chief  contents  ranges  between  1709^ 
when  Watts  published  his  "  Spiritual  Songs/'  and  1800,  when 
Cowper  died.  The  three  favourite  compositions  of  Bishop 
Ken  are  a  little  older,  and  some  delightful  additions  have  been 
made  to  our  sacred  minstrelsy  by  writers  of  more  recent  date 
— by  Heber  and  James  Montgomery,  by  Keble  and  Canon 
Stowell,  by  Sir  E.  Denny  and  Horatius  Bonar ;  but  still  the 
great  staple  of  British  hymnology  is  to  be  found  in  "Watts  and 
Doddridge,  in  Toplady,  Cowper,  and  the  "Wesleys,  and  in  those 
contemporaries  of  theirs  who  clothed  ardent  devotion  in  -vivid 
words  and  melodious  numbers.  Consequently,  readers  who 
are  familiar  with  this  kind  of  literature  will  at  once  recognise 
nearly  all  our  specimens.  It  has  been  our  object  to  bring  to- 
gether a  few  of  those  Christian  lyrics  which  have  been  cro\\Tied 
by  general  acclamation,  rather  than  to  move  for  a  new  trial  in 
behalf  of  candidates  who,  however  graceful  or  ingenious,  lacked 
that  kind  of  excellence  which  compels  the  popular  favour. 

BISHOP  KEN. 

Regarding  the  three  following  hymns,  Mr  Montgomery  has 
said — "  Had  he  endowed  three  hospitals  he  might  have  been 
less  a  benefactor  to  posterity.  There  is  exemplary  plainness 
of  speech,  manly  vigour  of  thought,  and  consecration  of  heart 
in  these  pieces.  The  well-known  doxology,  '  Praise  God,  from 
Avhom  all  blessings  flow,'  tfec,  is  a  masterpiece  at  once  of  ampli- 
fication and  compression — amplification,  on  the  burthen  'Praise 
God/  repeated  in  each  line  ;  compression,  in  exhibiting  God 


BISHOP  KEN.  301 

as  the  object  of  praise  in  every  view  in  which  we  can  imagine 
praise  due  to  Him  ;  praise  for  all  His  blessings — yea,  for  all 
blessings,  none  coming  from  any  other  source  ;  praise,  by  every 
creature  specifically  involved,  '  here  below,'  and  '  in  heaven 
above  ; '  praise  to  Him  in  each  of  the  characters  wherein  He  has 
revealed  Himself  in  His  word — Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 
Yet  this  comprehensive  verse  is  sufficiently  simple,  that  by  it 
*  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  praise  might  be 
perfected  ;'  and  it  appears  so  easy,  that  one  is  tempted  to  think 
hundreds  of  the  sort  might  be  made  without  trouble.  The 
reader  has  only  to  try,  and  he  will  quickly  be  undeceived."'"' 

This  devout  and  conscientious  prelate  was  born  at  Berk- 
hampstead — also  the  birthplace  of  Cowper — July  1G37,  and 
died  at  Longleat,  March  19,  1711.  For  four  years  he  held 
the  bishopric  of  Bath  and  Wells,  but,  refusing  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance to  King  William,  he  was  deprived,  and  spent  the  rest 
of  his  life  in  peaceful  retirement. 

jFor  fflorninrj. 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run  ; 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  early  rise, 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Eedeem  thy  misspent  time  that 's  past, 
Live  this  day,  as  if  'twere  thy  last : 
T'  improve  thy  talent  take  due  care  ; 
'Gainst  the  great  day  thyself  prepare. 

Let  all  thy  converse  be  sincere  ; 
Thy  conscience  as  the  noon-day  clear ; 
Think  how  all-seei-io-  Gol  thy  ways, 
And  all  thy  secret  t'lc  ug'ils  survej'S. 

Influenced  by  the  light  divine, 

Let  thy  own  light  in  goo  1  works  shine  : 

*  Montgomery's  "^CLristian  Psalmist." 


392  HYMNS. 


Reflect  all  Heaven's  propitious  ways, 
lu  ardent  love  and  cheerful  praise. 

Wake,  and  lift  up  thyself,  my  heart, 
And  with  the  angels  bear  thy  part ; 
Who  all  night  long,  unwearied,  sing 
Glory  to  the  Eternal  King. 

I  wake,  I  wake,  ye  heavenly  choir ; 
May  your  devotion  me  inspire. 
That  I,  like  you,  my  age  may  spend. 
Like  you,  may  on  my  God  attend. 

May  I,  like  you,  in  God  deliglit. 
Have  all  day  long  my  God  in  sight ; 
Perform,  like  you,  my  ]\Iaker's  will: 

0  may  I  never  more  do  ill ! 

Had  I  your  wings,  to  heaven  I  'd  fly. 
But  God  shall  that  defect  supply. 
And  my  soul  wing'd  with  warm  desire, 
Shall  all  day  long  to  heaven  aspire. 

Glory  to  Thee  who  safe  hast  kept, 
And  hast  refresh'd  me  Avhilst  I  slept. 
Grant,  Lord,  when  I  from  death  shall  wake, 

1  may  of  endless  life  partake. 

I  would  not  "wake,  nor  rise  again. 
Even  heaven  itself  1  would  disdain, 
Wert  not  Thou  there  to  be  enjoy'd. 
And  I  in  hymns  to  be  employed. 

Heaven  is,  dear  Lord,  where'er  Thou  art, 

0  never  then  from  me  depart ! 

For  to  my  soul  'tis  hell  to  be 

But  for  one  moment  Avithout  Thee. 

Lord,  I  my  vows  to  Thee  renew ; 
Scatter  my  sins  as  morning  dcvr ; 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thought  and  will. 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Direct,  control,  suggest,  this  day, 
All  I  design,  or  do,  or  say  ; 


BISHOP  KEN.  393 


That  all  my  powers,  uith  all  their  might, 
In  Tiiy  sole  glory  may  unite. 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  floAv, 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below, 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  angelic  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

Glory  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light ; 
Keep  me,  0  keep  me,  King  of  kings, 
Under  Thy  OAvn  Almighty  wings. 

Forgive  me,  Lord,  for  Thy  dear  Son, 
The  ill  that  I  this  day  have  done, 
That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  Tlice, 
I,  ere  I  sleep,  at  peace  may  be. 

Teach  me  to  live,  that  I  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  my  bed  ; 
Teach  me  to  die,  that  so  I  may 
Triumphing  rise  at  the  last  da3^ 

0  may  my  soul  on  Thee  repose. 

And  Avith  sweet  sleep  mine  eyelids  close ; 
Sleep,  that  may  me  more  vigorous  make, 
To  serve  my  God,  when  I  awake. 

When  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie. 
My  soul  with  heavenly  thoughts  supply  ; 
Let  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest, 
No  powers  of  darkness  me  molest. 

Dull  sleep  of  sense  me  to  deprive, 

1  am  but  half  my  days  alive  ; 

Thy  faithful  lovers,  Lord,  are  grieved 
To  lie  so  long  of  Thee  bereaved. 

But  though  sleep  o'er  my  frailty  rcignc. 
Let  it  not  hold  me  long  in  chains, 
And  now  and  then  let  loose  my  heart, 
Till  it  au  Hallelujah  dart. 


394  HYMNS. 

The  faster  sleep  the  sense  does  bind, 
The  more  unfetter'd  is  the  mind  ; 
0  may  my  soul  from  matter  free, 
Thy  unveil'd  goodness  waking  see ! 

0  when  shall  I  in  endless  day, 

For  ever  chase  dark  sleep  away. 

And  endless  praise,  with  th'  heavenly  choir, 

Incessant  sing,  and  never  tire  ? 

You,  my  blest  Guardian,  whilst  I  sleep. 
Close  to  my  bed  your  vigils  keep. 
Divine  love  into  me  instil. 
Stop  all  the  avenues  of  ill.* 

Thought  to  thought  Avith  my  soul  converse, 
Celestial  joys  to  me  rehearse, 
And  in  my  stead,  all  the  night  long 
Sing  to  my  God  a  grateful  song. 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below. 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  angelic  host. 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

for  MiUmU. 

Lord,  now  my  sleep  does  me  forsake. 
The  sole  possession  of  me  take  ; 
Let  no  vain  fancy  me  illude. 
No  one  impure  desire  intrude. 

Blcss'd  angels,  while  we  silent  lie. 
Your  hallelujahs  sing  on  high  ; 
You,  ever  wakeful  near  the  throne. 
Prostrate  adore  the  Three  in  One. 

I  now  awake  do  with  you  join. 
To  praise  our  God  in  hymns  divine  ; 
"With  you  in  heaven  I  hope  to  dwell, 
And  bid  the  night  and  world  farewell. 

*  It  would  have  been  better  if  this  prayer  had  been  addressed  to  the 
Divine  Spirit  Himself.  As  it  is,  it  is  too  like  the  Romish  invocation  of 
angels. 


BISHOP  KEN. 

My  soul,  wlien  I  shake  off  this  dust, 
Lord,  in  Thy  arms  I  will  intrust : 

0  make  me  Thy  peculiar  care, 
Some  heavenly  mansion  me  prepare. 

Give  me  a  place  at  Thy  saints'  feet, 
Or  some  fallen  angers  vacant  seat ; 

1  '11  strive  to  sing  as  loud  as  they, 
"\Tho  sit  above  in  brighter  day. 

0  may  I  always  ready  stand, 
With  my  lamp  burning  in  my  hand  ; 
May  I  in  sight  of  heaven  rejoice, 
Whene'er  I  hear  the  Bridegroom's  voice. 

Glory  to  Thee  in  light  array'd, 
Who  light  Thy  dwelling-place  hast  madri/ 
An  immense  ocean  of  bright  beams 
From  Thy  all -glorious  Godhead  streams. 

The  sun,  in  its  meridian  height. 

Is  very  darkness  in  Thy  sight : 

My  soul  0  lighten  and  inflame 

With  thought  and  love  of  Thy  great  name. 

Blest  Jesu,  Thou  on  heaven  intent, 
Whole  nights  hast  in  devotion  spent ; 
But  I,  frail  creature,  soon  am  tired, 
And  all  my  zeal  is  soon  expired. 

My  soul,  how  canst  thou  weary  grow 
Of  antedating  heaven  belov\', 
In  sacred  hymns  and  divine  love, 
Which  will  eternal  be  above  ? 

Shine  on  me,  Lord,  new  life  impart. 
Fresh  ardours  kindle  in  my  heart ; 
One  ray  of  Thy  all -quickening  light 
Dispels  the  sloth  and  clouds  of  night. 

Lord,  lest  the  tempter  me  surprise, 
Watch  over  thine  own  sacrifice  ; 
All  loose,  all  idle  thoughts  cast  out. 
And  make  my  very  dreams  devout. 


395 


30G  HYMNS. 


Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
Praise  Ilim,  all  creatures  here  below  ; 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  angelic  host. 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON. "" 

How  arc  Thy  servants  blest,  0  Lord ! 

How  sm-e  is  their  defence ! 
Eternal  Wisdom  is  their  guide, 

Their  help  Omnipotence. 

In  foreign  realms,  and  lands  remote, 

Supported  by  Thy  care. 
Through  burning  climes  I  pass'd  unhurt, 

And  breathed  in  tainted  air. 

Thy  mercy  sweeten'd  every  soil. 

Made  every  region  please  ; 
The  hoary  Alpine  hills  it  warm'd, 

And  smoothed  the  Tyrrhene  seas. 

Think,  0  my  soul !  devoutly  think, 

How,  with  aftVighted  eyes, 
Thou  saw'st  the  wide-extended  deep 

In  all  its  horrors  ri.se. 

Confusion  dwelt  on  every  face. 

And  fear  in  every  heart, 
When  waves  on  waves,  and  gulfs  on  gulfs, 

Overcame  the  pilot's  art. 

Yet  then  from  all  my  griefs,  0  Lord  ! 

Thy  mercy  set  me  free  ; 
Whilst  in  the  confidence  of  prayer 

My  soul  took  hold  on  Thee. 

For  tliough  in  dreadful  whirls  wc  hung 
High  on  the  broken  wave, 

*■  See  ayite,  page  32. 


ADDISON". 

I  knew  Tliou  wert  not  slow  to  hear, 
Nor  impotent  to  save. 

The  storm  was  laid,  the  whids  retired, 

Obedient  to  Thy  will ; 
The  sea  that  roar'd  at  Thy  command, 

At  Thy  command  was  still. 

In  midst  of  dangers,  fears,  and  death, 

Thy  goodness  I  '11  adore  ; 
I  'Jl  praise  Thee  for  Thy  mercies  past. 

And  humbly  hope  for  more. 

My  life,  it  Thou  preserv'st  my  life. 

Thy  sacrifice  shall  be  ; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom, 

Shall  join  my  soul  to  Thee. 


Creation's  Ecstimmw, 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky. 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  Original  proclaim  : 

Th'  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 

And  publishes  to  every  land 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail. 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  : 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  nor  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found? 
VOL.  IV.  2  L 


398  HYMNS. 

In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
For  ever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine. 


JOSEPH  HART. 

This  gifted  and  warm-hearted  man  was  forty-eight  years  of 
age  before  lie  began  to  preach.  The  Independent  Chapel, 
Jewin  Street,  London,  was  the  scene  of  his  brief  minis- 
trations, but  during  the  eight  years  of  his  public  career  he 
had  attained  an  uncommon  popularity ;  and  when  he  was 
buried  in  Bunhill  Fields,  it  is  said  that  twenty  thousand 
persons  were  present.  Over  his  grave  they  sang  his  own 
hymn, 

"  Sons  of  God,  by  blest  adoption." 

He  was  born  about  1712,  and  died  May  24,  1768.* 

Jesus,  while  He  dwelt  below, 
As  divine  historians  say. 
To  a  place  would  often  go  ; 
Near  to  Kedron's  brook  it  lay  ; 
In  this  place  He  loved  to  be, 
And  'twas  named  Gethsemane. 

'Twas  a  garden,  as  we  read, 
At  the  foot  of  Olivet, 
Low  and  proper  to  be  made 
The  Redeemer's  lone  retreat : 
When  from  noise  He  would  be  free. 
Then  He  sought  Gethsemane. 

Thither,  by  their  Master  brought, 
His  disciples  likewise  came ; 

*  Gadsby's  "  Memoirs  of  Hymn  Writers." 


HART.  399 


There  the  heavenly  tmtlis  He  taught 
Often  set  their  l)earts  on  flame  ; 
Therefore  they,  as  well  as  He, 
Visited  Gethsemane. 

Oft  conversing  here  they  sat ; 
Or  might  join  with  Christ  in  prayer  ; 
Oh  !  what  blest  devotion  that, 
When  the  Lord  Himself  is  there  ! 
All  things  thus  did  there  agree 
To  endear  Gethsemane. 

Full  of  love  to  man's  lost  race. 
On  the  conflict  much  He  thought ; 
This  He  knew  tiie  destined  place, 
And  He  loved  the  sacred  spot ; 
Therefore  Jesus  chose  to  be 
Often  in  Gethsemane. 

Came  at  length  the  dreadful  night ; 
Vengeance,  with  its  iron  rod, 
Stood,  and  with  collected  might, 
Bruised  the  harmless  Lamb  of  God  ; 
See,  my  soul,  thy  Saviour  see, 
Prostrate  in  Gethsemane. 


View  Him  in  that  Olive-press, 

Wrang  with  anguish,  whelm'd  with  blood  ; 

Hear  Him  pray  in  His  distress. 

With  strong  cries  and  tears,  to  God : 

Then  reflect  what  sin  must  be. 

Gazing  on  Gethsemane. 

Gloomy  garden,  on  thy  beds, 
Wash'd  by  Kedron's  water-pool. 
Grow  most  rank  and  bitter  weeds  ; 
Think  on  these,  my  soul,  my  soul ! 
Wouldst  thou  sin's  dominion  flee, 
Call  to  mind  Gethsemane. 

Eden,  from  each  flowery  bed. 

Did  for  man  short  sweetness  breathe ; 


400 


HYMNS. 

Soon,  by  Satan's  connsel  led, ' 

I\Inn  wrought  sin,  and  sin  -vvroiiglit  death : 

Tiut  of  life,  tlie  healing  tree 

Grows  in  rich  Gethsemano. 

Hitiicr,  Lord,  Thou  didst  resort, 
Ofuimes  with  thy  little  train  ; 
Here  wouldst  keep  thy  private  court : 
Oh  !  confer  that  grace  again  : 
Lord,  resort  Avith  worthless  me, 
Ofitimes  to  Gethsemane. 

Trr.c,  I  can't  deserve  to  share 
In  a  favour  so  divine  ; 
But  since  sin  first  fix'd  Thee  there, 
None  have  greater  sins  than  mine ; 
And  to  this  my  woful  plea, 
"Witness  thon,  Gethsemane  I — ■ 

Sins  against  a  holy  God, 

Sins  against  His  righteous  lav.'s, 

Sins  against  His  love,  His  blood. 

Sins  against  His  name  and  cause, — 

Sins  immense  as  is  the  sea : 

— Hide  me,  0  Gethsemane! 

Saviour !  all  the  stone  remove 
From  my  flinty,  frozen  heart ; 
Thaw  it  with  the  beams  of  love, 
Pierce  it  with  Thy  mercy's  dart  : 
Wound  the  heart  that  wounded  Thee; 
Break  it  in  Gethsemane. 

AUGUSTUS  M.  TOPLADY.'"^' 

^ssiireb  JJai'tf). 

A  debtor  to  mercy  alone, 


'o  1 


Of  covenant  mercy  I  sin< 
Nor  fear,  with  Thy  righteousness  on, 
jMy  person  and  offerings  to  bring 

*  See  page  238  of  this  volume. 


TOPLADY.  401 

The  terrors  of  law  and  of  God 

With  me  can  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
My  Savionr's  obedience  and  blood 

Hide  all  my  transgressions  from  view. 

The  work  which  His  goodness  began 

The  arm  of  His  strength  will  complete  ; 
His  promise  is  yea  and  Amen, 

And  never  was  forfeited  yet : 
Things  future,  nor  things  that  are  now, 

Not  all  things  below  nor  above, 
Can  make  Him  His  purpose  forego. 

Or  sever  my  soul  from  His  love. 

My  naijie  from  the  palms  of  His  hands, 

Eternity  will  not  erase  : 
Impress'd  on  His  heart  it  remains, 

In  marks  of  indelible  grace  ; 
Yes,  I  to  the  end  shall  endure. 

As  sure  as  the  earnest  is  given  ; 
More  happy,  but  not  more  secure, 

The  glorified  spirits  in  heaven. 


S:fje  Eock  of  %fS. 

Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee! 
Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 
From  Thy  riven  side  which  flow'd. 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure, 
Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Not  the  labours  of  my  hands. 
Can  fulfil  Thy  law's  demands  : 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know, 
Could  my  tears  for  ever  flow, 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone  ; 
Thou  must  save,  and  Thou  alone. 

Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cl!i)g; 
2  L  2 


402  HYMNS. 

Naked,  come  to  Thee  for  dress  ; 
Helpless,  look  to  Thee  for  grace  ; 
Foul,  I  to  the  fountain  % — 
Wash  me,  Sftviour,  or  I  die. 

While  I  draw  this  fleetinf^  breath, 
When  my  eye-strings  break  in  death 
When  I  soar  to  worlds  unknown, 
See  Thee  on  Thy  judgment  throne — 
llock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee  ! 


^  fEetiitation  m  Sickness. 

When  languor  and  disease  invade 
This  trembling  house  of  clay  ; 

'Tis  sweet  to  look  beyond  our  cage, 
And  long  to  fly  away. 

Sweet  to  look  inward  and  attend 
The  whispers  of  His  love ; 

Sweet  to  look  upward  to  the  place 
Where  Jesus  pleads  above. 

Sweet  to  look  back  and  see  my  nnme 
In  life's  fair  book  set  doAvn ; 

Sweet  to  look  forward  and  behold 
Eternal  joys  my  own. 

Sweet  to  reflect  how  grace  divine 

My  sins  on  Jesus  laid  ; 
Sweet  to  remember  that  His  blood 

I\Iy  debt  of  snflicrings  paid. 

Sweet  on  His  righteousness  to  stand, 
Which  saves  from  second  death  ; 

Sweet  to  experience  day  by  day. 
His  Spirit's  quick'ning  breath. 

Sweet  on  His  faitlifulness  to  rest, 
Whose  love  can  never  end  ; 

Sweet  on  His  covenant  of  grace, 
For  all  things  to  depend. 


TOPLADY. 

Sweet  ill  the  confidence  of  faith, 

To  trust  His  firm  decrees  ; 
Sweet  to  lie  passive  in  His  hand, 

And  Iviiow  no  will  but  His. 

Sweet  to  rejoice  in  lively  hope, 
That  -when  1113^  change  shall  come  ; 

Angels  will  hover  round  my  bed, 
And  waft  my  spirit  home. 

There  shall  my  disimprisoned  soul 

Behold  Him  and  adore  ; 
Be  "with  His  likeness  satisfied, 

And  grieve  and  sin  no  more  : 

Shall  see  Him  wear  that  very  flesh. 
On  which  my  guilt  was  lain ; 

His  love  intense,  His  merit  fresh, 
As  though  but  newly  slnin. 

Soon  too  my  slumbering  dust  shall  hear 
The  trumpet's  quickening  sound  ; 

And  by  my  Saviour's  power  rebuilt, 
At  His  right  hand  be  found. 

These  eyes  shall  see  Him  in  tliat  dny. 

The  God  that  died  for  me; 
And  all  my  rising  bones  sliall  say, 

Lord,  who  is  like  to  Thee  ? 

If  such  the  viev/s  which  grace  unfolds 

Weak  as  it  is  below  ; 
"What  raptures  must  the  Church  above 

In  Jesus'  presence  know  ! 

If  sucli  the  sweetness  of  the  stream, 

What  must  the  fountain  be, 
AVhere  saints  and  angels  draw  their  bliss, 

Immediately  from  Thee ! 

0  may  the  unction  of  these  trutiis 

For  ever  with  me  stay  ; 
Till  from  her  sinful  cage  dismiss'd. 

My  spirit  flies  away. 


403 


404  HYMNS. 


STj^e  iDgmcf  Bclfcber  to  ]^is  SouL 

Deathless  principle,  arise ; 
Soar,  thou  native  of  the  skies. 
Pearl  of  price,  by  Jesus  bought, 
To  His  glorious  likeness  wrought, 
Go,  to  shine  before  His  throne. 
Deck  His  mediatorial  crown  ; 
Go,  His  triumphs  to  adorn  ; 
Made  for  God,  to  God  return, 

Lo,  He  beckons  from  on  high  ! 
Fearless  to  His  presence  fly: 
Thine  the  merit  of  His  blood  ; 
Thine  tlie  righteousness  of  God. 

Angels,  joyful  to  attend, 
Hovering,  round  thy  pillow  bend  ; 
Wait  to  catch  the  signal  given. 
And  escort  thee  quick  to  heaven. 

Is  thy  earthly  house  distrest? 
Willing  to  retain  her  guest? 
'Tis  not  thou,  but  she,  must  die  : 
Fly,  celestial  tenant,  fly. 
Burst  thy  shackles,  drop  thy  clay, 
Sweetly  breathe  thyself  away : 
Singing,  to  thy  crown  remove  ; 
Swift  of  wing,  and  fired  w^th  love. 

Shudder  not  to  pass  the  stream  : 
Venture  all  thy  care  on  Him; 
Him,  whose  dying  love  and  power 
Stiird  its  tossing,  hush'd  its  roar. 
Safe  is  the  expanded  wave  ; 
Gentle  as  a  summer's  eve  : 
Not  one  object  of  His  care 
Ever  sufftr'd  shipwreck  there. 
See  the  haven  full  in  view  ! 
Love  divine  shall  bear  thee  through. 
Trust  to  that  propitious  gale  : 
"Weigh  thy  anchor,  spread  thy  sail. 


PEERONET.  405 

Saints,  in  glory  perfect  made, 

AVait  th}'  passage  through  the  shade  : 

Ardent  for  thy  comhig  o'er, 

Sec,  they  throng  the  bhssfiil  shore. 

Mount,  their  transports  to  improve  : 

Join  the  longino-  choir  above  : 

Swiftly  to  their  wish  be  given: 

Kindle  higher  joy  in  heaven. 

Such  the  prospects  that  arise 

To  the  dying  Christian's  eyes  ! 
Such  the  glorious  vista,  Faith 
Opens  through  the  shades  of  death ! 


EDWARD  PERROXET. 

Except  that  lie  lived  at  Canterbury,  and  was  the  son  of  the 
vicar  of  Sliorehani,  Kent,  we  can  give  no  information  regard- 
ing tlie  author  of  the  following  liymn — one  of  the  noblest  in 
the  language,  and  with  its  own  tune,  "  Miles  Lane,"  one  of  tlie 
best  known  to  English  congregations. 


Crolnn  ?^im  ILarti  of  ^11. 

All  hail  the  power  of  Jesus'  name  ! 

Let  angels  prostrate  f:ill : 
Bring  forth  the  royal  diadem, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  alL 


Crown  Him,  ye  martyrs  of  our  God, 

^Vho  from  His  altar  call ; 
Extol  the  stem  of  Jesse's  rod, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Ye  chosen  seed  of  Israel's  race, 
A  remnant  weak  and  small  ; 

Hail  Him  who  saves  you  by  His  grace. 
And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 


406  HYMNS. 


Ye  Gentile  sinners,  ne'er  torget 
The  wormAvoocl  and  the  gall  ; 

Go,  spread  your  trophies  at  His  feet, 
And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Let  every  kindred,  every  tribe, 

On  this  terrestrial  ball. 
To  Him  all  majesty  ascribe. 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Oh  that  with  3'onder  sacred  throng 

We  at  His  feet  may  Ml, 
There  join  the  everlasting  song, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all ! 


CHARLES  WESLEY. 


To  tlie  organising  faculty  and  amazing  activity  of  John 
"Wesley,  there  was  provided  a  remarkable  antithesis  or  Bwp- 
plement  in  the  poetic  fire  of  his  brother  Charles ;  and  to  the 
society  so  wonderfully  brought  together  by  the  practical 
energy  of  the  one,  there  was  supplied  an  element  of  continual 
inspiration  by  the  genius  and  fervour  of  the  other.  Keeping 
higher  influences  out  of  sight,  the  Wesleyan  Hymn-book  is  to 
the  Wesleyan  Connexion  very  much  what  the  soul  is  to  the 
body ;  and  although  John  Wesley  himself  and  many  others 
contributed,  the  collection  owes  its  distinctive  charm  to  that 
triumphant  spirit  who  poured  forth  the  "  good  matter"  of  the 
gospel  in  strains  which  often  remind  us  of  the  harp  of  Pindar. 

"  Those  hymns  are  sung  now  in  collieries  and  copper  mines. 
How  many  has  their  heavenly  music  strengthened  to  meet 
death  in  the  dark  coal-pit ;  on  how  many  dying  hearts  have 
they  come  back,  as  from  a  mother's  lips,  on  the  battle-field  ; 
beside  how  many  death-beds  have  they  been  chanted  by  trem- 
bling voices,  and  listened  to  with  joy  unspeakable  ;  how  many 
have  they  supplied  with  prayer  and  praise,  from  the  first  thrill 


CHARLES  WESLEY.  407 

of  spiritual  fear  to  tlie  last  rapture  of  heavenly  hope  !  They 
echo  along  the  Cornish  moors,  as  the  corpse  of  the  Christian 
miner  is  borne  to  his  last  resting-place ;  they  cheer  with 
heavenly  messages  the  hard  bondage  of  slavery;  they  have 
been  the  first  words  of  thanksgiving  on  the  lips  of  the  libe- 
rated negro ;  they  have  given  courage  to  brave  men,  and 
patience  to  suffering  women ;  they  have  been  a  liturgy  en- 
graven on  the  hearts  of  the  poor ;  they  have  borne  the  name 
of  Jesus  far  and  wide,  and  have  helped  to  write  it  deep  on 
countless  hearts.  And  England  is  no  more  without  a  people's 
hymn-book.'"'"" 

Charles   Wesley   was  born  at  Epworth,   December  18, 
1708,  and  died  at  London,  March  29,  1788. 

EJe  Dag  of  Jutirjment. 

Stand  the  omnipotent  decree  : 

Jehovah's  will  be  done  ! 
Nature's  end  we  wait  to  see, 

And  hear  her  tinal  o'loan  : 
Let  this  earth  dissolve,  and  blend 

In  death  the  wicked  and  the  just ; 
Let  tliose  ponderous  orbs  descend, 

And  grind  us  into  dust. 

Rests  secure  the  righteous  man  ! 

At  his  Redeemer's  beck, 
Sure  to  emerge,  and  rise  again, 

And  mount  above  the  Avreck  ; 
Lo  !  the  heavenly  spirit  towers, 

Like  flame,  o'er  nature's  funeral  pyre, 
Triumphs  in  immortal  powers. 

And  claps  his  wings  of  fire  ! 

Nothing  hath  the  just  to  lose, 
By  worlds  on  worlds  destroy'd  ; 

*  ''  The  Voice  of  Christian  Life  in  Song/'  by  the  Author  of  '*  Tales  and 
Sketches  of  Christian  Life."  (P,  264.)  A  volume  of  exquisite  taste  and 
delightful  instructioD. 


408  HYMNS. 


Far  beneath  liis  feet  he  vicvs, 
"With  smiles,  the  flaming-  voiJ  : 

Sees  the  imiverse  rencw'd, 

The  grand  millennial  reig-n  begun  ; 

Shout?,  with  all  the  sons  of  God, 
Around  the  eternal  throne ! 

Uesting  in  tliis  glorious  hope 

To  be  at  last  restored, 
Yield  we  now  our  bodies  up 

To  earthquake,  plague,  or  sword : 
Listening  for  the  call  divine. 

The  latest  trumpet  of  the  seven, 
Soon  our  soul  and  dust  shall  join, 

And  both  iiy  up  to  lieaven. 

Come,  0  thou  Traveller  unknown, 
Whom  still  I  hold,  but  cannot  see ! 

M\'  company  before  is  gone. 
And  I  am  left  alone  with  Thee  : 

TVitli  Thee  all  night  I  mean  to  stay. 

And  wrestle  till  the  break  of  day. 

I  need  not  tell  Thee  v^ho  I  am, 
JMy  misery  and  sin  declare  ; 

Thyself  hast  callVl  me  by  my  name, 
Look  on  my  hands,  and  read  it  there 

But  who,  I  ask  Thee,  avIio  art  ThouV 

Tell  me  Thy  name,  and  tell  me  now. 

In  vain  Thou  strugglest  to  get  free, 
I  never  will  unloose  my  hold  ! 

Art  Thou  the  Man  that  died  for  me? 
The  secret  of  Thy  love  imfold  : 

Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  Thee  go. 

Till  I  Thy  Name,  Thy  Nature  know. 

Wilt  Thou  not  yet  to  me  reveal 
Thy  new,  unutterable  Name  ? 

Tell  me,  I  still  beseech  Thee,  tell : 
To  know  it  now,  resolved  I  am : 


CHARLES  WESLEY.  409 

Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  Tliec  go, 
Till  I  Thy  Xame,  Thy  Nature  know. 

TVhat  though  my  shrinking-  flesh  complain, 

And  murmur  to  contend  so  long? 
I  rise  superior  to  my  pain  : 

When  I  am  weak,  then  I  am  strong  ! 
And  when  my  all  of  strength  shall  fail, 
I  shall  with  the  God-Man  prevail. 


PART  ir. 

Yield  to  me  now,  for  I  am  weak  ; 

But  confident  in  self- despair : 
Speak  to  my  heart,  in  blessings  speak  : 

Be  conquered  by  my  instant  prayer : 
Speak,  or  Thou  never  hence  shait  mo\e, 
And  tell  me  if  Thy  Xame  is  Love. 

'Tis  Love !  'tis  Love !  Thou  diedst  f jr  me 
I  hear  Thy  v.-hisper  in  my  heart ! 

The  morning  breaks,  the  shadows  flee, 
Pure,  universal  Love  Thou  art : 

To  me,  to  all.  Thy  bowels  move. 

Thy  Nature  and  Thy  Xame  is  Love. 

My  prayer  hath  power  with  God  :  the  grace 

Unspeakable  I  noAv  receive  ; 
Through  faith  I  see  Thee  fjice  to  face  . 

I  see  Thee  face  to  face,  and  live  ! 
In  vain  I  have  not  wept  and  strove  ; 
Thy  Nature  and  Thy  Name  is  Love. 

I  know  thee,  Saviour,  who  Thou  art, 
Jesus,  the  feeble  sinner's  friend  ; 

Nor  wilt  Thou  with  the  night  depart, 
But  stay  and  love  me  to  the  end  ; 

Thy  mercies  never  shall  remove  ; 

Thy  Nature  and  thy  Name  is  Love. 

The  Sun  of  Righteousness  on  me 
Hath  rose,  with  healing  in  His  wings : 
VOL.  IV.  2  M 


410  HYMNS. 


Witlierd  my  nature's  streng-th,  from  thee 

My  soul  its  life  and  succour  brings  ; 
My  help  is  all  laid  up  above  ; 
Thy  Nature  and  Thy  Name  is  Love. 

Contented  now  upon  my  thigh 
I  halt,  till  life's  short  journey  end  ; 

All  helplessness,  all  weakness,  I 
On  Thee  alone  for  strength  depend  ; 

Nor  have  I  power  from  Thee  to  move  ; 

Thy  Nature  and  thy  Name  is  Love. 

Lame  as  I  am,  I  take  the  prey  ; 

Hell,  earth,  and  sin  with  ease  o'ercome 
I  leap  for  joy,  pursue  my  way. 

And  as  a  bounding  hart  fly  home  ; 
Through  all  eternity  to  prove 
Thy  Nature  and  thy  Name  is  Love. 


ifor  t}}e  i^eto  gear. 

Come,  let  us  anew 
Our  journey  pursue, 
Roll  round  with  the  year. 
And  never  stand  still  till  the  Master  appear. 

His  adorable  will 
Let  us  gladly  fulfil. 
And  our  talents  improve, 
By  the  patience  of  hope,  and  the  labour  to  love. 

Our  life  is  a  dream  ; 
Our  time,  as  a  stream, 
Glides  swiftly  away ; 
And  the  fugitive  moment  refuses  to  stay. 

The  arrow  is  flown  ; 
The  moment  is  gone  ; 
The  millennial  year 
Rushes  on  to  our  view,  and  eternity  's  here. 


CHARLE6   WiiriLEY.  411 

0  that  each  in  the  day 
Of  His  coming  may  say, 
"  I  have  fought  my  way  through  ; 
I  have  finish'd  the  work  Thou  didst  give  me  to  do." 

0  that  each  from  his  Lord 
May  receive  the  glad  word, 
''  Well  and  faithfully  done  ; 
Enter  into  my  joy,  and  sit  down  on  my  throne." 

Rejoice  for  a  brother  deceased, 

Our  loss  is  his  infinite  gain  ; 
A  soul  out  of  prison  released, 

And  free  from  its  bodily  chain  : 
With  songs  let  us  follow  his  flight, 

And  mount  with  his  spirit  above, 
Escaped  to  the  mansions  of  light. 

And  lodged  in  the  Eden  of  love. 

Onr  brother  the  haven  hath  gain'd 

Out-flying  the  tempest  and  wind  ; 
His  rest  he  hath  sooner  obtain'd, 

And  left  his  companions  behind, 
Still  toss'd  on  a  sea  of  distress, 

Hard  toiling  to  make  the  blest  shore, 
Where  all  is  assurance  and  peace, 

And  sorrow  and  sin  are  no  more. 

There  all  the  ship's  company  meet. 

Who  saiFd  with  the  Saviour  beneath  ; 
With  shouting  each  other  they  greet, 

And  triumph  o'er  trouble  and  death  ; 
The  voyage  of  life  's  at  an  end. 

The  mortal  affliction  is  past ; 
The  age  that  in  heaven  they  spend, 

For  ever  and  ever  shall  last. 


412  HYMNS. 


THOMAS  OLIVERS. 

Althougli  converted  by  the  preaching  of  Whitefield,  this 
fervid  Welshman  attached  himself  to  the  cause  and  the  con- 
nexion of  Mr  "Wesley,  and  for  some  time  aided  him  in  editing 
the  "Arminian  Magazine,"  and  his  dust  now  rests  in  Mr 
Wesley's  tomb,  behind  the  chapel  in  City  Road.  He  was 
born  at  Tregonan,  Montgomeryshire,  in  1725,  and  died  in 
March  1799.-"- 

©otj  of  ^Hbraljam. 

FIRST  PART. 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise, 
WJio  reigns  enthroned  above, 
Ancient  of  everlasting  days. 
And  God  of  Love : 
Jehovah,  Great  I  AM, 
By  earth  and  heaven  confest ; 
I  bow  and  bless  the  sacred  Name, 
Tor  ever  blest. 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise, 
At  whose  supreme  command 
From  earth  I  rise,  and  seek  the  joys 
At  His  right  hand  : 
I  all  on  earth  forsake. 
Its  wisdom,  fame,  and  power ; 
And  Ilim  my  only  portion  make, 
My  shield  and  tower. 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise, 
Whose  all-suflicient  grace 
Shall  guide  me  all  my  happy  days, 
In  all  my  ways. 

*  "Creamer's  Methodist  Ilymnology:"   New  York,  18^8.     '' Gadsby's 
Tlymn  Writers." 


OLIVERS.  413 


He  calls  a  worm  his  friend, 
He  calls  Himself  my  God  ; 
And  He  shall  save  me  to  the  end, 
Through  Jesu's  blood. 

He  by  Himself  hath  sworn, 
I  on  His  oath  depend  ; 
I  shall,  on  eagles'  wings  upborne, 
To  heaven  ascend  : 
I  shall  behold  His  face, 
1  shall  His  power  adore. 
And  sing  the  wonders  of  His  grace 
For  evermore. 

SECOND  PART. 

Though  nature's  strength  decay. 
And  earth  and  hell  withstand, 
To  Canaan's  bounds  1  urge  my  way, 
At  His  command. 
The  watery  deep  I  pass, 
With  Jesus  in  my  view  ; 
And  through  the  howling  wilderness 
My  way  pursue. 

The  goodly  land  I  see, 
With  peace  and  plenty  blest ; 
A  land  of  sacred  liberty, 
And  endless  rest. 
There  rnilk  and  honey  flow ; 
And  oil  and  wine  abound  ; 
And  trees  of  life  for  ever  grow. 
With  mercy  crown'd. 

There  dwells  the  Lord  our  King, 
The  Lord  our  Righteousness, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  world  and  sin. 
The  Prince  of  Peace  ; 
On  Sion's  sacred  height, 
His  kingdom  still  maintains; 
And  glorious  with  His  saints  in  light 
For  ever  reigns. 
2  M  2 


4U 


HYMNS. 

He  keeps  His  own  secure, 
He  guards  them  by  His  side, 
Arrays  in  oarments  white  and  pure 
His  spotless  bride ; 
"With  streams  of  sacred  bliss, 
With  groves  of  living  joys, 
With  all  the  fiuits  of  Paradise, 
He  still  supplies. 

TIIIPtD  PAPwT. 

Before  tlie  great  Three-One 
They  all  exulting  stand, 
And  tell  the  wonders  He  hath  done, 
Through  all  their  land  ; 
The  listening  spheres  attend, 
And  swell  the  growing  fame  ; 
And  sing,  in  ?ongs  which  never  end, 
The  wondrous  Name. 

The  God  who  reigns  on  high 
The  great  archangels  sing; 
And,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,"  cry, 
"Almiglity  King! 
"Who  was  and  is  the  same, 
And  evermore  shall  be  ; 
Jehovah,  Fatiicr,  Great  1  AM, 
We  wor.-liip  Tliee." 

Before  tlie  Saviour's  face. 
The  ransom'd  nations  bow  ; 
O'crwhelm'd  at  His  almighty  grace. 
For  ever  new : 
He  shews  His  prints  of  love, — 
They  kindle  to  a  flame ! 
And  sound  through  all  the  worlds  above. 
Tlie  slaughter'd  Lamb. 

The  whole  triumphant  host 
Give  thanks  to  God  on  high  ; 
"Hail,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost," 
They  ever  cry : 


COWPER.  415 


Hail,  Abraham's  God,  and  mine! 
(I  join  the  heavenly  lays,) 
All  might  and  majesty  are  thine, 
And  endless  praise. 

%yiLLIAM  COWPER. 

Oh!  for  a  closer  walk  -with  God, 
A  calm  and  heayenly  frame ; 

A  light  to  shine  upon  the  road 
That  leads  me  to  the  Lamb ! 

"Where  is  the  blessedness  I  kne\v 
\yhen  first  I  saw  the  Lord  ? 

"Where  is  the  soul -refreshing  view 
Of  Jesus  and  His  word? 

"What  peaceful  hours  I  once  enjoy'd  ! 

How  sweet  their  memory  still ! 
But  they  have  left  an  aciiing  void, 

The  world  can  never  fill. 

Return,  0  holy  Dove,  return, 

Sweet  messenger  of  rest ; 
I  hate  the  sins  that  made  Thee  mourn, 

And  drove  Thee  from  my  breast : 

The  dearest  idol  I  have  known, 

"Whate'er  that  idol  be. 
Help  me  to  tear  it  from  Thy  throne, 

And  worship  only  Thee. 

So  shall  my  walk  be  close  with  God, 
Calm  and  serene  my  frame  ; 

So  purer  light  shall  mark  the  road 
That  leads  me  to  the  Lamb. 

STfje  iFountam  ©penctr. 

There  is  a  fountain  fiU'd  with  blood 
Drawn  from  Ennnanuel's  veins  ; 


416  HYMNS. 


And  sinners,  plunged  beneath  that  flood, 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains. 

The  dying  thief  rejoiced  to  see 

That  fountain  in  his  day; 
And  there  have  I,  as  vile  as  he, 

'Wash'd  all  my  sins  away. 

Dear  dying-  Lamb,  Thy  precious  blood 

Shall  never  lose  its  power. 
Till  all  the  ransom'd  church  of  God 

Be  saved  to  sin  no  more. 

E'er  since,  by  faith,  I  saw  the  stream 

Thy  flowing  w^ounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme, 

And  shall  be  till  I  die. 

Then  in  a  nobler,  sweeter  song- 

I  '11  sing  Thy  power  to  save; 
When  this  poor  lisping,  stammering  tongue 

Lies  silent  in  the  grave. 

Lord,  I  believe  Thou  hast  prepared 

(Unworthy  though  I  be) 
For  me  a  blood-bought  free  reward, 

A  golden  harp  for  me ; 

'Tis  strung,  and  tuned,  for  endless  years, 

And  formil  by  power  divine; 
To  sound  in  God  the  Father's  ears 

No  other  name  but  Thine. 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

His  wonders  to  perform  ; 
He  plants  His  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill. 
He  treasures  up  His  bright  designs, 

And  works  His  sovereijrn  will. 


COT/PER. 


417 


Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take, 
The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread, 

Are  bio-  ^vith  mercy,  and  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  Iiead. 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense. 
But  trust  Ilim  for  Ilis  grace  ; 

Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  iiides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  Mill  ripen  fast. 

Unfolding  every  hour : 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 
And  scan  His  work  in  vain  ; 

Cod  is  His  own  interpreter, 
And  He  wlil  make  it  plain. 


INDEX. 


Abraham,  The  God  of,  412;   The 

Offering'  of  Isaac,  82,  2/54. 
Adam,  Thomas,  244,  287. 
Addison,  32,  396. 
Anger,  Antidotes  to,  175. 
Anselm,  132. 
Apologists,  1. 
Atterbury,  147. 

Bentley,  5. 

Eerridge,  240,  278. 

Beveridge,  Bishop,  289. 

Birds,  14. 

Boerhaave,  169. 

Boswell's  "  Life  of  Johnson,"  339. 

Boyle  Lectures,  5,  14. 

Brewster's  "Life  of  Newton,"  319. 

Brougham,  Lord,  on  Newton,  318. 

Burnet,  Bishop,  126. 

Butler,  Bishop,  34,  73,  223. 

Castle-bttilding.  362. 

Centurion,  The,  212. 

Chalmers's  "  Bioa;raphical  Diction- 
ary," 171. 

Christ,  What  think  ye  of?  256  ;  and 
Christianity,  171. 

Christianity,  Evidences  of,  32-72. 

Christianity  and  its  Competitors, 
171. 

Christians,  Virtues  of  early,  48  ; 
Constancy,  32. 

Conscience,  Supremacy  of,  74. 

Conversation,  Rules  for,  190. 

Cowper,  375,  415. 

Creation's  Testimony,  397. 

Critics,  Biblical,  114. 

"  Crown  Him  Lord  of  All,"  405. 

Cruelty  to  Animals,  386. 

Cyprian,  140. 

Death,  Certainty  of,  369. 
Defoe,  326. 


Derham,  14. 

Devotion,  Daily,  167. 

Dialogue  on  Scepticism,  54  ;  Socra- 
tic,  201  ;  Between  Theron  and 
Aspasio,  268  ;  Between  a  Physi- 
cian and  Farmer,  278. 

Diary  of  Dr  John  Rutty,  339. 

"Diligent  Dick,"  342. 

Dodd,  Dr,  189. 

Dreams  and  Visions,  150. 

Duncan's  "  God  in  Disease,"  20. 

Dj'ing  (The)  Christian  to  his  Soul 
(Pope),  367,  (Toplady)  404 ;  Dying 
Friends,  70. 

Earth,  The  Placing  of  the,  12. 
Emmaus,  385. 
England,  380. 
Evening  Hymn,  393. 
Evidence,  The  Christian,  32. 

Faith,  Assured,  401. 
Farewell  bv  Whitefield,  260. 
Father's  (A)  Counsels,  297. 
Feathers,  16. 

Flattery  and  Detraction,  290. 
Frogs,  Showers  of,  9, 

Gadsby's  "  Hymn-writers,"  399. 

Gambold,  John,  374. 

Gaskell's  (Mrs)  "  Life  of  C.  Bronte," 

245. 
Generation,  Spontaneous,  7. 
Gethsemane,  399. 
Gibbon,  Edward,  48,  297. 
God  resisteth  the  Proud,  275 ;  "  God 

]\Ioves  in  a  Mysterious  Way,"  416; 

Love  to  God.  78  ;   Doing  all  for 

the  Glory  of  God,  104. 
Grirashaw,  245. 
Guthrie's  Edition  of  Berridge,  278. 

Happiness,  The  Diffusion  of,  26. 


INDEX. 


419 


Hart,  Joseph,  398. 
Herbert  of  Cherbury,  Lord,  1. 
Heroism,  True,  164. 
Hervey,  James,  233,  268. 
Historians,  Church,  126. 
Hobbes  of  Malmesbury,  3. 
Home,  Bishop,  54,  304. 
Horses,  Romish  Blessing  of,  112. 
Horsley,  Bishop,  86. 
Hume's  "  Dialogues,"  55. 
Hymns,  267,  390-417. 

Isaiah,  Sublimity  of,  118. 

Jacob,  Wrestling,  408. 
Jenyns,  Soame,  63. 
Jesus,  Looking  unto,  354. 
Job,  199. 

Johnson,  Dr,  296,  337. 
Jones's  "  Life  of  Home,"  305. 
Jortin,  Dr  John,  138. 
Judgment,  Day  of,  408. 

Keith  "  On  Prophecy,"  43. 
Ken,  Bishop.  390. 
Kennicott,  Dr,  114. 
King's  "  Anecdotes,"  148. 
Knox,  Alexander,  230. 

Laity,  The  Christian,  of  the  Eigh- 
teenth Century,  318-860. 

Land  of  the  Living,  The,  369. 

Lardner,  22. 

Law,  William,  296. 

Leighton,  Archbishop,  296. 

Letters  of  Lady  Russell,  293;  of 
Rev.  H.  Venn,  307;  of  Rev.  J. 
Newton,  311. 

Life,  Mystery  of,  374. 

London,  382. 

Lowth,  Bishop.  115. 

Lyall,  Dean,  43. 

Mackintosh's  "  Dissertation,"  100. 
Man,  The  Good,  372. 
Matrimonial  Counsel,  208. 
Meadley's  "  Life  of  Paley,"  29. 
Mediatorial  System,  36. 
**■  Messiah,"  Pope's,  364. 
Middleton,  Dr  Conyers,  109. 
Midniiiht  Hymn,  394. 
Mill,  Dr  John,  114. 
Milners,  The,  131. 
Mitford's  ''Life  of  Young,"  368. 
Montgomery's    "Christian    Psalm- 
ist," 391. 


More,  Hannah,  341, 
Morning  Hymn,  391. 
Mysteries,  159-162. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  318. 
i    Newton,  John,  250,  311. 
Newton,    Dr   T.,    Bishop  of  Bris- 
tol, 42. 

Obedience.  Gospel,  283. 

Occupation  for  the  Opulent,  164. 

Ogden,  Dr,  197. 
1    ''Oh!    for    a    Closer    Walk    with 
•        God,"  415. 
1    Olivers,  T.,  412. 
i 

I    Pain,  Uses  of,  29. 
i    Paley,  Archdeacon,  20. 
!    Parsonage,  Life  in  the,  307. 

Passion,  The  Sublime  of,  120. 

Patriot  (The)  and  Martyr,  378. 

Patriotism  and  Providence,  383. 

Paul,  St,  321. 

Perronet,  E.,  406. 

Piety,  Youug's  Lines  on,  371. 

Plants  not  Self-created,  10. 

Poetry  of  Eighteenth  Century,  361. 

Pope,  Alexander,  363. 

Porteus,  Bishop,  212. 

Prayers  by  Dr  Johnson,  338. 

Prior,  ]\Litthe\v,  361. 

Prodigal  Son,  The,  184. 

Prophecy,  Fulfilment  of,  43. 

Prophetic  Inspiration,  Periods  of. 
319. 

Prospective  Contrivances,  23. 

Providence,  101. 

Psalms,  The  Book  of,  305. 

Pulpit,  Cowper  on  the,  384. 

Pulpit  Orators,  145-216. 

Rainbow  about  the  Throne,  The,  153. 

Reason  and  Passion  :  an  Alle2;ory, 
107. 

Redeemer,  The  Risen,  94. 

Resignation,  287. 

Restitution  of  All  Things,  The,  387. 

Revival,  The  Great,  and  its  Evangel- 
ists, 217-288. 

Rock  of  Ages,  The,  402. 

Romaine,  Rev.  William,  248,  283. 

Rome,  Middleton's  Letters  from,  109. 

Russell,  Lady  Rachel,  291. 

Rutty,  Dr  John,  339. 

Scepticism,  Dialogue  on,  54. 


420 


INDEX. 


Science,  Vanity  of,  361. 

Seeker,  Archbisliop,  174. 

Seed,  Jeremiah,  163. 

Sermons,  What  becomes  of  them? 

146. 
*'Set  thine  house  in  order,"  ISO. 
Sherlock,  Bishop,  170. 
Shrimps  Merry-making,  27. 
Sickness,  Meditation  in,  402. 
Sinner,  The  Pardoned,  377. 
Skelton,  Rev.  Philip,  207. 
Snow,  The  Treasures  of,  271. 
"  Solomon,"  Prior's,  361. 
Southey's  "Life  of  Cowper,"  377. 
Spinoza,  3. 

Squire  (The)  and  Cottager,  326. 
Steele,  Sir  Richard,  321. 
Sterne,  Laurence,  184. 
Supper,  The  Lord's,  202. 
Swallows  and  Swifts,  19. 
Swift,  Dean,  156. 

"  Tatler,"  The,  149,  196. 
Theology,  Natural,  5-31 
Time,  Young's  Lines  on,  371. 


Toplady,  Rev.  Augustus,  238,  401. 
Tracts,  Hannah  More  the  first  and 

best  maker  of,  342. 
Traveller's  Hymn,  396. 
Trinity,   Dean   Swift's   Sermon    on 

the,  156. 
Tucker,  Abraham,  99. 

Venn,  Rev.  Henry,  246,  307. 

Walker  of  Truro,  236,  275. 
Walking  Avith  God,  415. 
Warburton,  80. 
Water,  Holy,  110. 
Watson,  Bishop,  48. 
Wesley,  Rev.  C,  407. 
Wesley,  Rev.  John,  228,  261. 
Whitefield,  Rev.  George,  223,  254, 

261. 
Wilberforce,  Wm.,  353. 
Wit  Misdirected,  166. 

Year,  Hymn  for  the  New,  410. 
Young,  Dr  Edward,  194,  367. 


EXD  OF  VOL.  lY. 


BALLANTVNE  AND  COMPANY,  PBINTKBS,  KDINBDKQH. 


•"I'lll  I  III  I  n'riVnln".'  ,Sf.'"'"^^-Speer  L.brary 


1   1012  01146  1581 


